


Carpe Noctem

by terma_archivist



Category: Kindred: The Embraced, Once a Thief (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-01
Updated: 2001-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 180,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.
Relationships: Victor Mansfield/Mac Ramsey
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Book I: San Francisco Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

**San Francisco Meetings  
by Lianne Burwell **

Carpe Noctem Book One 

  
**Chapter One**

Once upon a time, nearly a lifetime ago, Mac Ramsey had had a normal life. He had a mother and a father and lived in a small house in a small town, he wasn't sure where. It didn't really matter. As far as he was concerned, that town was the whole world. 

His father did some sort of work that took him away from home frequently, but that was all right. He always came back, usually with exotic presents that were the envy of his friends, and kisses for his wife, who just shook her head in exasperation and welcomed him home. 

Then one day, when he was six, his mother collapsed in the middle of gardening, and an ambulance came and took her away to the hospital. It never brought her back. 

At the time, Mac didn't understand what had happened. All he knew was that his mother was gone, and he had no one. It had taken nearly two months for the authorities to find his father, and he'd only come back long enough to collect Mac and leave again. It was the last time Mac saw the house he'd lived in all his life. 

It was the last time his life was normal. 

After that, it could be described in many ways, but never normal. Instead, for the next five years he'd traveled the world with his father, discovering that his father was a con artist and learning the art of the con. With his big eyes and adorable looks, Mac had made the perfect cover for his father. 

But when he was eleven his father had left him with a friend in Hong Kong, then disappeared. Mac was too old to be a decoy in his father's cons and too young to be of any other use. Despite the occasional letter from his father, Mac had felt like he'd been abandoned for a second time, the first time being by his mother. 

Two years later, Mac had run away. He'd survived alone on the streets of Hong Kong before being found and taken in by Tang, head of the most powerful crime family on the island. Finally he'd had a family again, a home. Even a brother and sister, which he'd never had before. For nearly ten years he'd basked in the warmth of that family's love. 

And then he'd thrown it all away, for a love that didn't last. 

And now he had a new family, assuming that you could call the Agency a family. Victor Mansfield, LiAnn Tsei—his sister from the Tang family—and even the Director. If he were in a generous mood, he might even include Jackie and Dobrinsky in that family. Maybe. 

But after losing two families, he couldn't bring himself to count on this third one. No matter how much he yearned to believe that the third time was the charm, he couldn't bring himself to trust them. If he'd learned anything in his twenty-five years it was that nothing stayed the same. Sooner or later he would lose everything. Again. He was sure of it. 

And that scared the hell out of him. 

* * *

Whistling the tune from a new song making the rounds of the dance clubs, Mac Ramsey headed down the empty hallways of the Agency's underground base. He was a little late, but didn't care. It was a beautiful spring morning, and he'd been out dancing the night before. He'd even found himself a little female company, though he'd hadn't stayed at her place for the night, making his excuses as he left. Going to her place gave him a reason not to let her stay the night since he was the one who would have to leave. Besides, he wasn't fool enough to bring someone home. He knew that the Director had cameras in every Agency-owned apartment, and he wasn't into performing for an audience. 

His date for the night had given him her phone-number, but he didn't think he'd call her. A second date led to an assumption of a relationship, and that led to questions about what he actually did for a living; questions that he couldn't answer. That was the biggest drawback to his job. Maybe someday he'd meet someone who he could tell everything without them running away scared. He wasn't holding his breath. In the meantime, he contented himself as best he could with a series of one-night stands. The one time he'd tried for more, the woman had turned out to be an arms dealer who'd threatened to blow them all up with a nuclear hand-grenade at what was supposed to be their wedding. Needless to say, it hadn't worked out. 

He'd learned his lesson. No more dating the suspects. 

He reached the conference room and was a little surprised that Vic and LiAnn were the only ones there. He'd expected the Director to be waiting with a biting comment about tardiness for which he'd come up with a quick excuse that would make the others smile if he were lucky. 

Almost disappointed, he slipped into the empty seat. As usual, LiAnn had taken the middle seat, firmly planting herself between the two men who were her partners and were also both her ex-fiancées. It was almost like she still expected them to come to blows over her, even more than two years working together. She didn't seem to have noticed that they'd become friends over that time, especially since they'd nearly been killed by Michael Tang. She hadn't been badly injured, but they'd both spent time in physical therapy, rebuilding their strength, and their friendship had strengthened from the shared experience. Besides, the only thing they'd ever really fought over was her, and they'd both gotten over her long ago, but Mac wasn't sure she'd noticed. Maybe she thought that they were both still hovering around her, waiting for her to make a choice. LiAnn could be very self-absorbed. 

"Good morning boys and girls," the Director said coming down the mysterious set of stairs at the back of the conference room. Mac _still_ didn't know where they led, and he'd been wondering since almost day one. He wasn't foolish enough to try sneaking up them to find out, though. "I must say, you did good work on the Lemmerling case. Don't let it go to your head," she quickly added, and Mac had to hide a smile. The woman was hard as nails and not afraid to get her hands dirty, but despite her attempts to hide it, she obviously had a soft spot for their team. 

She gracefully settled into her chair opposite them and propped her feet up on the desk surface. Considering the brevity of her skirt, only the fact that her legs were crossed at the ankles kept them from seeing what color underwear she was wearing. Assuming she was wearing any, Mac thought with a small shudder. At times the Director's behavior around Vic and him—especially him—seemed to swing between maternal and predatory. It was a scary combination. 

"However," she continued, "you did well enough that I've decided to give you all a small reward." 

The three of them exchanged glances, wondering what was going on. The Director _never_ rewarded them for doing their job. She ignored the non-verbal exchange. 

"I'm leaving tomorrow for a week of meetings in San Francisco. Since I'm allowed to bring an entourage, I've decided that the three of you will accompany me. I will need you for a few hours a day, but the rest of the time will be yours to do as you like." 

"Great!" Mac said, delighted. "I've never been to San Francisco. I think," he added softly. During the five years he'd traveled with his father he'd seen a lot of the world, and he wasn't sure of all the cities he'd seen. After a while they'd sort of blended together. 

The Director favored him with a small, amused smile. "Our flight leaves at seven tomorrow evening. Don't be late." 

They sat staring at her, all of them wondering if that was a dismissal or not. The Director was heading for the stairs again when she paused and turned around. "Well? Shouldn't you be packing or something? Shoo!" 

They shooed. A free day was almost as rare as praise or other rewards, and Mac didn't want to risk losing it. 

"I wonder what sort of meetings she's going to?" LiAnn asked as they headed for the exit. It seemed natural that they would stay together. 

"Who cares?" Mac said with a wide grin. "We're going to San Francisco for a vacation." 

Vic didn't look quite as happy about it. "Yeah, but if the Director has to go, it's probably Agency business, which means we're diving blind into a shark tank. Doesn't that bother you?" 

Mac's grin dissolved into a pout. "Do you have to be such a pessimist?" he asked, his good mood already starting to fade slightly. It didn't help that Vic was right; the trip probably was a cover for something that they weren't being told about. That was more like the Director. 

"Well," he finally said. "If it is, then there isn't much we can do about it. I still plan on packing to party, and I suggest that you do to. No, wait, I forgot. You _don't_ party, do you Vic?" His grin started to grow again as he teased the older man. "Well, we'll just have to do something about that." 

Vic was eyeing him suspiciously, but Mac was already starting to make plans. He was going to take his two partners clubbing, whether they liked it or no. LiAnn hadn't been much fun since the whole thing with Michael, and Vic would drag his feet. But Mac had made it his mission to make his uptight partners loosen up, and this was the perfect chance. People always acted differently when they traveled. 

They separated at the door, each heading for their own car—or pickup truck in Vic's case. Mac shook his head in disgust over the vehicle. Vic was a gorgeous man, and in a sports car—green or black, Mac thought with a smile—he would be a sight to be seen. Or he would if he would just _dress_ better. Mac added a shopping trip to his mental plans. If they were going clubbing, he would have to get Vic some decent clothes. 

Mac climbed into his Agency-owned Testarosa and headed back to his apartment. Unlike Vic, he wasn't afraid to drive an ostentatious car. The Agency had offered them each their choice of _any_ car, and he'd picked the one he wanted, in the color he wanted. Black, of course. Was there any other color better suited to a Ferrari? Well, maybe fire-engine red. 

During the drive back to the Agency-owned apartment he lived in, filled with Agency-owned furniture, he wondered how he'd ended up in this life. The Agency owned everything he had, right down to his underwear. True, they didn't stint, letting him accumulate an expensive wardrobe and a large collection of CDs and movies, but they still owned it all. All he got was a stipend that paid for his food and his entertainment, and even that had to be accounted for, right down to the penny. If he tried to walk away from the Agency, it would be as a pauper. Yet another way that the Agency kept them on short leashes. 

Of course, if it weren't for the Agency, he'd still be in a Hong Kong jail, assuming that the Tangs hadn't already arranged to have him killed as punishment for trying to leave. Well, that and trying to steal the proceeds from the gun-running operation to finance a new life for him and LiAnn. Old man Tang had claimed to love them like they were his own blood, but it didn't stop him from agreeing to force LiAnn to marry his _real_ son, Michael, or from trying to force Mac to take over that gun-running operation, even though Mac had made it clear how much he hated the idea. He never would have let them just _leave_. He called them his children, but in truth they were his property. 

And now they were property of the Agency, so not a lot had changed. 

Inside his apartment, he pushed away those depressing thoughts. What was, was, and there was nothing he could do to change it right now. Instead of dwelling on his life, or lack thereof, he started packing for the trip. No matter what the Director was up to now, he intended to enjoy the week in San Francisco. Like he'd said, as far as he knew, he'd never been to the 'City by the Bay', but he'd heard a lot about it. There were nightclubs he wanted to hit, restaurants he wanted to try. There was no telling when he'd get another chance to visit the city, so he planned to make the most of it. 

His favorite party clothes went into a garment bag and his suitcase, and by the time he was half-packed, his good mood had returned. A CD filled the air with music that made him want to dance. He was singing along with the lyrics—such as they were—and moving to the beat when he heard the sound of applause. Pulling the gun that had become the most essential part of his wardrobe, he turned to find the Director standing in the doorway. 

He holstered the gun with a sigh, and moved past her to turn off the stereo. "What do you want?" he asked, not really trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He knew she had the keys to his apartment, but he wished she didn't use them _quite_ so often. 

She was still wearing the same clothes: a sheer white blouse with a black camisole underneath, a _very_ short black velvet skirt and black silk stockings, with four inch spike heels to finish the outfit off. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties shouldn't be able to pull off an outfit like that, but she did, and very well. 

"Now, is that any way to talk to your boss?" she said, pulling off the mirrored sunglasses that she was wearing. "Really, Mac." 

Mac sighed. It looked like she was in the mood to play, which rarely boded well for him. "Sorry," he said, hoping to mollify her. 

"No, that's all right. After all, I should have knocked." Then she paused and tapped one long fingernail against her lower lip. "Then again, we own this apartment, so why bother?" 

Mac sighed, his good mood disappearing again. He was starting to feel like he was on an emotional roller coaster. Of course, that was nothing new. 

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. He hoped. 

"I just wanted to make sure that you were going to be ready for the trip." 

She walked over to the bed and peaked in the garment bag, then checked the closet. "Pack the blue silk shirt," she said with a sultry smile, turning back to him. He backed up as she advanced on him looking positively predatory. Unfortunately, a wall behind him halted his retreat. The Director leaned against him, getting in a little grope. "It looks good on you." 

Mac gulped. The Director had never hidden the fact that she found him attractive. Either that or she just liked teasing him. He'd never even considered reciprocating, though. The woman was just too darned scary, no matter how attractive she was. Besides, she was his boss and almost old enough to be his mother. There was something vaguely incestuous about even thinking about her being naked. And having her show up in his apartment on a regular basis wearing next to nothing didn't help. 

"Whatever you say," he finally said. 

"Good answer," she said, toying with the buttons of his shirt, slipping the top few out of their buttonholes. 

Finally, she stepped back, and Mac breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like he was going to escape unmolested. Again. As she headed for the bedroom door, he hastily buttoned his shirt back up to his neck. Even worse was the mild hardon she'd left him with. Despite his lack of interest, his body wasn't shy about responding to her. 

"Oh, and Mac," she said, pausing in the doorway. "There's a new outfit on the back of your sofa. Pack it as well." 

Then she was gone. 

Mac held still for a couple minutes, half expecting her to come back and torment him some more. When she didn't, he started to relax. The CD had ended, and the apartment almost echoed with the silence. Mac leaned back against the wall, lightly tapping the back of his head against the hard surface a couple times. 

"If the job doesn't kill me, she will," he announced to the empty air. 

Then he grabbed the indicated shirt and stuffed it into his garment bag, resisting the urge to rip it to shreds. It was one of his favorites, but now he didn't think he'd be able to wear it without remembering having the Director grope him. He lost more clothes that way... 

Then he headed for the living room. 

As promised, there was clothing draped over the back of the sofa. Mac picked up the top item and groaned. It was a pair of black leather pants that looked to be so tight that he would need a crowbar to get in or out of them. Beneath it was a white silk shirt that shimmered like it was wet. Picking it up, he somehow wasn't surprised to find that it was designed to be open almost to the waist. It had full sleeves, ending in tight cuffs with lace ruffles as trim. 

He picked up the last item, a leather vest in the same glowing black as the pants, and jumped when several objects dropped to the floor with a jingle. He crouched down and fished them out from under the sofa, standing up again before he took a look at what was in his hand. 

The first item made him cringe. It was a gold chain attached to nipple clamps. He'd had a casual bed partner who liked to play with those sorts of thing, but he wasn't crazy about them. At least these weren't the type with alligator teeth. These were adjustable, and looked pretty comfortable. Obviously they were intended for display, not play. Next was an earring with a gold charm. The charm was of a stylized 'T' with the upright made from a scepter. It was small and delicate and definitely _not_ his style in jewelry. The final item was a heavy gold chain choker that looked very expensive. He held it up to his neck, then shivered. Wearing it would be just too much like wearing a collar, he thought to himself. 

His phone ringing brought him out of his reverie. He dropped the jewelry on a side table, then picked up the phone. "Ramsey." 

"Oh yes, I forgot to mention," said that oh-so-familiar voice. "Be wearing the earring tomorrow when you get to the airport. You will be expected to be wearing it during the entire trip." 

"Why?" Mac started to ask, but the only answer he got was a dial- tone. 

He stared at the receiver for a minute, but there were no answers to be found there. He hung up the phone and shrugged. If she wanted him to wear an earring, he would wear it. The clamps were a different matter. 

But he couldn't help wondering _why_ it was so important that he wear a piece of jewelry. 

* * *

Mac was running late, as usual, and he got to the airport just in time to check his bags and get to the gate before boarding was called. He'd ended up packing enough clothes for a stay of several weeks, but that was okay. Better to have too many clothes than not enough was his motto. LiAnn had probably packed just as much. Vic, on the other hand, would probably fit everything into a duffel bag that would do as a carryon. 

When he got to the gate, the Director was off in the corner talking with Dobrinsky, probably giving him last instructions. He was going to be running things while they were gone, with Jackie helping. That had surprised Mac, but it made sense. Even if the blonde was a total nutcase, she'd been trained to run a mob family. That wasn't too different from running the Agency, Mac figured. 

Mac headed over to join his partners standing next to the windows. The world outside was black, except for the airport lights, since it was still early in the spring. The interior lights reflected off the insides of the windows, turning them almost into mirrors, reflecting their images back at them. 

As he got closer, he noticed that something was off with Vic's appearance. Same clothes, same posture, same expression... 

Different earring, though. Vic normally wore a simple small gold hoop. This earring had a charm hanging from it, and Mac could bet that he knew what the charm was. 

When he was close enough, he confirmed that the charm was identical to the one dangling from his own ear. 

"Let me guess," he said, reaching over to flick the earring hanging from Vic's ear. "Black leather and white silk." 

"You too, huh?" Vic said. Mac turned his head so that Vic could see his earring. 

They turned to LiAnn, who held up a matching charm hanging from a delicate gold chain around her neck. Mac wondered idly what sort of outfit the Director had supplied _her_ with, and felt a reflexive tightening in his groin. They might not be together any more, and he was no longer unhappy about that, but he still found her attractive. 

"And the... other jewelry?" Vic flinched, and Mac knew that in the man's luggage would be a set of nipple clamps connected by a chain and a choker, or something similar. Surprisingly, LiAnn just looked confused. 

"So I wonder what they mean," he said speculatively, indicating the charms. 

Vic grimaced. "Ownership." 

Mac blinked, then frowned. "T for Toronto?" he speculated. "Just what are we going _to_ that she would need to mark us as hers?" 

"Don't you two think you're getting just a _little_ paranoid?" LiAnn said in an irritated tone. Mac just snorted. 

"LiAnn, I wouldn't be surprised if she had us _branded_." 

"What an interesting idea," a voice purred from behind him, making him jump. When he turned, the Director was right behind him. 

"I'm glad you all know how to follow orders," she said, checking them all out. "And I am quite serious. Don't remove those for _any_ reason until we return home." 

"Why?" Vic demanded. 

She stared at him until he backed down. "Because I say so." Then she softened, just slightly. "The people I'm meeting with aren't necessarily friends, but we do have a truce. Those mark you as under my protection. Take them off, and you'll be fair game. I suggest that you _don't_ take them off." 

The words sent a cold shiver down Mac's back, and he decided that whatever was going on, he wasn't going to test that statement. That earring was going to stay permanently attached to his ear, come hell or high water, until he was safe and sound, back in his own apartment. 

At that moment, they called the boarding for first class. "That's my call. I'll see you when we land. Ta-ta." She turned and headed for the tunnel to the plane. 

Mac glanced at the ticket that LiAnn had handed him and sighed. "Coach? She flies first class and we go coach?" 

Vic shrugged. "What else would you expect from her?" he said. LiAnn just shook her head. 

Finally, their boarding was called, and they headed for the plane. It was going to be a long flight, Mac thought. He needed a lot of leg room, and there was no way he was going to get that in coach. 

* * *

Mac took the window seat and was a little surprised when LiAnn didn't take the center seat, like she usually did. Then again, LiAnn had never much liked flying, so it wasn't surprising that she wanted to be as far from the window as possible. So, instead Vic was next to him, and Mac was a little relieved. A tense LiAnn was _not_ a good travelling companion. 

As they took off, Mac watched the bright lights of Toronto fade away beneath them, and shivered. For a moment, he was convinced that he wasn't going to see those lights again. 

Then he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was tired and once they got to San Francisco, who knew how much rest they'd get. 

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The plane landed in San Francisco not much before eleven o'clock and Vic was exhausted. His body was telling him that it was two in the morning, and he was not a night person. He would have preferred to go on an earlier flight, but he knew better than to suggest it to the Director. While the woman seemed perfectly reasonable most of the time, you never knew what would set her off. 

And setting her off was _not_ a smart move. He'd learned that quickly when he'd been recruited by the Agency, more than half a decade before. 

San Francisco wasn't impressive so far. Black and wet. It was raining when they landed, raining when they got off the plane, raining when they finally got their bags from the luggage claim and raining when the Director herded them into a waiting limousine. Rain, rain and more rain. God, he hated rain. 

LiAnn was still doing the silent act. She'd read a book in Chinese —or at least he _assumed_ it was Chinese—the entire flight, ignoring them both. It was something she did on a regular basis. Vic was finding it harder and harder to remember the woman who'd been his lover for nearly a year before she'd broken off their relationship. Ever since the incident with her former foster brother, Michael Tang—when she'd had to kill him and the three of them had been nearly killed in an explosion—she'd withdrawn from them and the rest of the world. She still did her job, and did it well, but she rarely went out any more. She put on a good act, but a lot of the light had gone out of her. Maybe this trip would bring out the old LiAnn, the one he'd fallen in love with. 

Mac, on the other hand, hadn't shut up the entire trip. He'd somehow found the time to buy a handful of tourists guides to San Francisco and read aloud from them descriptions of the various nightspots he intended to hit, making it clear that he was _not_ going to go alone. Vic had growled at him to keep quiet, and growled at him again that he had no intention of going clubbing, but secretly he was grinning. In their months of recovery from the explosion, he and Mac had grown closer. They'd already been friends, almost against their wills, but now he would be happy to call Mac his brother. It was the first time he'd considered applying that title to someone since he'd been betrayed by the fellow cops who were _supposed_ to be his brothers. 

So if Mac wanted to go exploring the San Francisco nightlife, Vic would go with him. He'd grumble and complain, but he would go. And knowing Mac, he would probably enjoy it too. Not that he'd ever admit it to the younger man, of course. 

The limousine dropped them off in front of what looked like an old- style manor. The small, discreet sign hanging over the front door quietly announced that they'd arrived at 'The Garden House.' Their bags were unloaded and since he had the fewest Vic ended up carrying the Director's luggage, as well his own. 

Normally he would have just had a single duffel bag, not needing a lot of clothing, but the Director had shown up at his apartment in the middle of the night with a suitcase full of fancy clothes and orders to bring it with him. All she would say was that she didn't want to be embarrassed by her people. Most of the clothing, he actually liked. Some of it, though, was stuff he wouldn't be caught dead in. Unfortunately he didn't think that the Director was going to give him a choice. 

As he hefted one of the bags, the swinging of the earring hanging from his left ear distracted him. Yet another mark of ownership, like the collar that was tucked inside the suitcase he'd been ordered to bring with him. Part of him had wanted to refuse to wear it, but he knew better. Even after more than six years he had no illusions. If he crossed the Director, he would end up back in prison so fast that his head would spin. It wasn't a place he wanted to see again, so he wore the earring and he brought the collar. God help him. 

The manager of the hotel obviously knew the Director already. He nearly fell over himself, personally escorting them to their rooms. There was a suite for the Director, with bedroom, bathroom, sitting room and meeting room. LiAnn was installed in the room next to it, and a room with two double beds was assigned to Mac and Vic. The Director stared at them, obviously expecting some sort of protest, but Vic just shrugged. It wasn't worth arguing about. They'd shared before. At least Mac didn't snore. Besides, it wouldn't make a difference and she'd enjoy forcing them too much. 

"Well," she finally said. "I suggest you all get some rest. I won't need you until tomorrow evening, so enjoy your day. Don't get in trouble and whatever you do, don't remove my insignia. You might not like the consequences," she added darkly. Vic had to suppress a shiver, even though he was sure she was trying to fake them out; like kids telling ghost stories around the campfire. 

The door shut behind them, and he was alone in the room with Mac. At least the green and brown décor was restful, and not overly feminine like most hotel rooms. "So, which bed do you want?" Vic asked, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to be magnanimous. Mac stared at them, considering his options, then shrugged. 

"Both of them are shorter than I like, but I'll take the one closer to the window," he said. 

"Okay," Vic said, then tossed his bags onto the other bed. It was just as well. Given a preference, he preferred to be closer to the door. Also, thanks to the short corridor past their bathroom, that bed was also completely out of the view of the door. Another bonus. 

Mac was already unpacking his bags, hanging his clothes in the closet. Vic decided to follow his example. If the Director wanted him in one of her outfits tomorrow night, it had better not be wrinkled. He watched Mac finish, noting that the only thing that didn't look to be his own was the one outfit. Black leather and white silk, just like he'd said at the airport in Toronto. 

Vic's bags were a different matter. He had his own blue jeans and cotton shirts, as well as his favorite brown leather jacket. The Director, however, obviously didn't approve of his choice of clothing, so he now had two pairs of dress pants in charcoal gray and navy blue, several new dress shirts in jewel-tone colors and two pairs of dress shoes that he had been unsurprised to find a perfect fit. And then there was the... other outfit. Tight black leather pants to match the ones Mac had unpacked, a smooth, tight shirt of white silk with a high collar and a black leather jacket that wasn't too bad. Newer and shinier than the one he already owned. 

Mac was watching him now, his eyebrows going up at the new clothing. "Nice," he said to the dark green silk shirt. "Very nice," to the black and white outfit. "And did you get the same accessories as I did?" 

"Accessories?" Vic asked, trying to playing dumb. 

"Come on, Vic. She wants a matching set, so you got accessories too. I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he added suggestively, a grin plastered all over his face. 

Vic gritted his teeth and pulled the velvet bag from his suitcase. He tossed it over to Mac and turned his back. He already knew what was in it. A collar. A damned collar. Black leather with a gold design inlaid on it. And hanging from the front of the collar was a gold chain leash. The other end of the leash clipped to the matching leather belt. He refused to turn to see the inevitable smirk on Mac's face. 

"Well," Mac finally said. "It's about as bad as mine." 

"Oh?" Vic asked as he turned, curious in spite of himself. Mac's only answer was to toss him a similar velvet bag from his own luggage. Inside, Vic found a set of nipple-clamps that made him wince, joined by a gold chain, and a heavy gold necklace that looked an awful lot like the sort of choke collar you'd buy for a dog. For a moment, he flashed on an image of Mac in his Director-provided outfit wearing them, and felt arousal coil in his gut, then forced it away guiltily. He wasn't going to go there. The last time he'd gone there, he'd ended up burnt. That wasn't going to happen again. Or so he'd been telling himself for more than a year now. 

"I'd say she plans to put us on display," Mac said, sliding Vic's 'accessories' back into their bag and tossing them onto his bed. "What kind, I'm not sure I want to know." 

"I can guess," Vic said darkly, remembering some of the things he'd seen in his days in Vice. Mac looked at him sharply, but didn't press for anything more... descriptive. Good thing, since Vic had no intention of going _there_ either. 

Vic decided that bed was a good idea, so he grabbed his toiletries bag and cotton pajamas and headed for the bathroom. He decided to leave the shower until morning, settling for brushing, flossing, then washing his face and changing into the pajamas. 

When he came back out, Mac brushed past him, presumably to do the same. Vic pulled out the jeans and shirt he intended to wear the next day, turned off all the lights except the bedside lamps, then pulled back the covers and slipped into bed. The mattress was a little softer than he liked, but at least there were enough pillows. So many hotels had those teeny, flat pillows that left him with a sore neck. These were thick and fluffy, stuffed with down feathers from the feel. 

After a few minutes the toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened again. Vic opened his eyes as Mac came across the room and started to strip. Vic's eyes went wide as clothes were draped over the back of a handy chair. "Couldn't you have changed in the bathroom?" he asked, his voice sounding almost strangled to even him. 

Mac grinned. "I told you before, Vic. I don't wear anything to bed," he said teasingly, referring to the time he'd waited in Vic's bed to ask for help with the Rivers case. 

With that, he dropped his briefs on top of the pile of clothing with a flourish and pulled back the covers of the other bed. As he did so, he managed to turn enough that Vic got an eyeful of his package. Mac definitely had nothing to be ashamed of there and wasn't shy of showing it off. 

Vic turned quickly to face the wall next to his bed, trying to ignore Mac's chuckle at the move. The light clicked off. Vic pretended that he didn't hear the sound of flesh sliding against cool linen. Mac was obviously making a production of stretching out and moaning softly at the comfort of the bed. 

Mac was a tease. Vic knew that. The younger man had been teasing him since the day they'd met. However, in the last few months that teasing had been taking on an increasingly sexual tone. It was frustrating and infuriating, but the kicker was that most of the time Mac didn't even seem to be aware of it. Either that or Mac was a _much_ better actor than Vic was giving him credit for. 

Still, even if he was aware, Vic had no intention of taking him up on the implied offer. He'd never seen Mac date anyone not female and he had no intention of being an experiment in walking the other side of the street for him. Besides, Mac had never dated the same woman more than twice. While the other man might be willing to dabble in one-night stands, other than the brief attempt at marriage to Claire, which hadn't even made it through the ceremony, Vic wanted something more. He wanted permanence. He wanted stability 

Unfortunately, the Agency made that pretty much impossible so his usual date these days was his trusty right hand. His best bet for a long-term relationship was someone inside the Agency, but that wasn't too appealing. LiAnn had dumped him once and he wasn't enough of a masochist to give her the chance to do it again, both Nathan and Jackie were too crazy for his tastes, Dobrinsky was too straight and the Director... he was _definitely_ not going there. He wasn't _that_ desperate. At least, not yet. 

And Mac? It would be fun, fast and probably end by destroying their friendship, and Vic had few enough friends that he wasn't willing to risk that. 

Soft snores were coming from the other bed, and Vic finally started to relax. In a way, the sound was soothing, and it was the last thing he was aware of before drifting off to sleep. 

* * *

The morning dawned bright and sunny and Vic wasn't very pleased to see it. Unfortunately, despite how late he'd gotten to sleep, he was awake to see the sun rise. He usually got up early, and six in the morning in San Francisco was nine in Toronto, which was late for him. 

Mac, on the other hand, didn't seem to have much trouble sleeping. He didn't stir when Vic showered and shaved, and didn't move when Vic got dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a comfortable flannel shirt. For the time being, he left the Director's clothes in the closet. Then he grabbed one of the room keys and went in search of breakfast. 

What he found was pleasantly surprising. The Garden House had a dining room that served a hearty breakfast instead of the teeny little gourmet fare he was expecting. They even had Canadian back bacon. He ordered a meat-heavy omelet with a huge side of hash browns, coffee and orange juice and settled down to fuel himself for whatever was going to happen that day. 

LiAnn wandered down about an hour later and ordered a plate of fresh fruit and cottage cheese—a food item that personally made Vic shudder, both in look and taste—and a cup of tea. They exchanged greetings, then Vic went back to the mystery novel he'd brought down with him. 

Mac appeared an hour after that. By that point, LiAnn had headed out the door to do who-knew-what without even bothering to ask Vic if he wanted to come along. 

"So, what shall we do today?" Mac asked cheerfully as he inhaled a plate of something that Vic wasn't so sure that he wanted to examine too closely. The kitchen staff seemed to be able to produce anything you wanted, no matter how weird. 

"Well," Vic said, considering the pile of brochures he'd collected from the front desk. "I'd like to see the botanical gardens." 

Mac sighed and shook his head. "Boring, Vic." 

Vic glared at him. "You asked," he said defensively. 

Mac expression softened. Finally he grinned. "All right, the botanical gardens it is. And tomorrow _I_ get to chose, okay?" 

Vic shrugged. "Sounds fair to me. Of course, if it's _too_ weird, you'll be doing it alone." 

"C'mon, Vic. Learn to live a little. It'll be _fun_." 

Vic wasn't so sure of that, but he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it would probably be something like a trip to Chinatown or something like that. Mac would probably delight in trying to get him to eat squid or something equally disgusting. 

* * *

The botanical gardens had been as spectacular as the guidebooks and brochures had promised. While Toronto was still brown and dingy as the last of the winter snow melted, San Francisco was full of the color of growing plants. Vic had ignored Mac's comments and had pulled out his trusty old camera and had snapped two entire rolls of film at the gardens. He knew that he looked like a tourist, but he didn't care. He was enjoying himself. Besides, he _was_ a tourist. 

They found a sidewalk café for lunch, and while the prices made Vic wince, the pastrami on rye was fantastic. For some strange reason, Mac insisted on ordering the veggie special. Sourdough bread piled high with a dozen types of vegetables and guacamole instead of mayo or butter. 

"So what did you think?" Vic asked, taking a deep gulp of his beer. Okay, it wasn't as good as Canadian beer, but it went down nicely with the sandwich and fries. 

Mac shrugged. "Very... pretty," he said, but Vic could see the twinkle in his eyes. 

"And you don't do pretty, right?" 

"Oh, I do pretty very well. Blonde and blue eyed, or raven haired and green eyed. I like pretty a lot." He was distracted briefly, and Vic turned his head slightly to see why. Naturally, it was a couple of leggy California girls walking down the sidewalk. He snorted. 

"What? Don't _you_ do pretty any more?" Mac asked teasingly. 

"I don't do _just_ pretty," Vic shot back. "Personality and brains are kind of important too." 

"You mean like Ivy?" Mac asked, referring to a stripper who'd pursued Vic. 

"She was an informant, that's all." 

"Oh, really? LiAnn said Ivy was so distracting that it took you twice as long and twice as much money as it should have to get the info on the Janczyk family." 

"And what were you up to at the time? Playing kissy-face with Jackie Janczyk?" 

"Hey," Mac said defensively. "I was trying to keep myself in one piece." 

"Ever consider trying again?" Vic asked, only slightly teasing. He grinned as Mac shuddered theatrically. 

"Not if you _paid_ me," he said. "Seriously, Jackie scares me. Hell, sometimes she scares me even more than the Director does." 

Vic lifted a quick hand to his left ear, checking the earring there, then blushed at the reflexive motion. The only thing that saved him from complete embarrassment was the fact that Mac had done the same thing. They looked at each other and snickered. 

"What about you?" Mac asked. "Ever consider Jackie as a _partner_ partner?" 

"For maybe two seconds. I prefer someone a little more... stable." 

"So Nathan, the Victor-worshiper, is out too," Mac said with a grin. 

"I have this little rule," Vic shot back. "No dating anyone who thinks I'm a prince of the Illuminati." 

"Is that all?" 

"Well, it's rule twenty-seven of a hundred and sixteen." 

"Wow," Mac said, his eyes gone comically large. "No wonder you never have a date." 

Vic tossed a french fry at him, but Mac just managed to snap it out of the air with his teeth and munched it nonchalantly. 

"Pardon me," a soft voice said from beside their table and both men jumped. It was just their waiter. "Mister Mansfield?" 

"Yes?" Vic asked suspiciously. 

"Telephone," the waiter said and handed over a cordless telephone over before heading back to his rounds of the tables. 

Vic raised an eyebrow, but Mac just shrugged. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Mansfield." 

"You know," a very familiar voice said, "if you had waited just a little longer, I could have given you both cell phones. That way, I wouldn't have had to track you down." 

Mac was trying to get his attention, and Vic mouthed "The Director" at him. Mac's eyes went wide. 

"Sorry, we didn't know that you had planned that." 

"Victor, I plan for _everything_. You should know that by now." 

"Sorry," Vic said again, feeling like a complete dweeb. The Director was very good at making him feel that way. 

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that we'll be heading for my meeting at six thirty. Make sure that you give yourself plenty of time to get back here and clean up." 

"Do we have to wear the... umm..." 

"No, you don't have to wear the 'um.' Those are for the party at the end of the week. But dress do nicely. One of the other items I supplied you with will do fine. Now, have a fun afternoon boys. And don't do anything I wouldn't do." 

There was a click, then the hum of the dial-tone. Vic snorted as he handed the phone back to the waiter. "Is there _anything_ you wouldn't do?" he muttered to himself. "First meeting tonight. We have to be back and ready for six-thirty." 

"And the accessories?" Mac asked, all joking gone. Mac may be a bit of an exhibitionist, but he obviously didn't like the Director's toys any better than Vic did. 

"No. Those, apparently, are for the big party at the end of the week." 

"Oh, joy," Mac drawled, putting down his sandwich. 

Vic looked at his own lunch and decided that he wasn't hungry anymore either. "So," he said, forcing good cheer. "What do you suggest for the afternoon?" 

* * *

Unfortunately, the interruption had spoiled the mood. They had wandered around for a while, just taking in some of the sights before heading back to the hotel well before the six-thirty deadline. LiAnn had returned sometime before them and was parked in the sun-room with her book. She'd asked if they'd enjoyed themselves, but didn't seem too interested in the answer. 

Vic had just shrugged and gone back to his mystery novel. He finished it just before it was time to shower and change, having already figured out whodunit several chapters before the end. He dropped it on his bed, making a mental note to get to a bookstore the next day to pick up a couple more books. 

For the evening, he pulled out the gray pants and a russet-colored shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that the Director did have good taste. The color of the shirt brought out a hint of red in his hair and with the gold earring it complimented his skin tones. The pants hugged his hips without being confining and when he turned he noted that his ass was definitely being displayed to full advantage. They were clothes better suited to someone on the prowl for company, not him. 

"Very nice," Mac almost purred coming out of the bathroom where he'd been doing something with his hair. It looked the same as always, but it had taken him ten minutes to get it that way according to Vic's watch. 

Mac's clothing was equally flattering: Black slacks and a matching jacket with wide lapels over a dark blue turtleneck of some material that looked incredibly soft. The man looked good and he knew it. His back was straight, his shoulders back and a small smile curving his full lips. Once again, Vic forced himself to remember all the reasons why he shouldn't make a pass at the young man. 

"I don't think either of us will embarrass the Director tonight," he said instead, covering his instinctive reaction to Mac's very definite beauty. He and LiAnn must have made a gorgeous couple, back when they lived in Hong Kong. 

"I certainly hope not," Mac said, double checking his appearance in the mirror. Then they headed down to the lobby where the two women were waiting for them. 

LiAnn was wearing a Chinese-style dress, red with golden dragons embroidered on it, that came down to just above her knees. Matching ballet slipper shoes made her look like she was ready to go dancing. Vic was pleased to see a genuine smile curve her lips and light her eyes when she saw the two of them coming down the stairs. It was more like the old LiAnn than he'd seen in a while. The only discordant note was the fact that the red of her dress clashed horribly with the russet of his shirt. 

The Director, on the other hand, was power dressing. She wore a black pantsuit with an equally inky silk blouse that glistened wetly in the lamp light. Her hair was pulled up in a complicated twist and her only jewelry was a gold necklace with a charm that Vic was willing to bet matched the ones the three operative were wearing, although it sparked with the distinctive flare of diamonds. 

The Director looked them both up and down, and Vic resisted the urge to turn in place so that she could see him from all angles. Finally she smiled and said, "Very nice, boys. This way." 

It was starting to rain again, and the same limousine was waiting for them. They climbed in and the Director tapped on the glass partition separating the passenger seats from the driver. No instructions were needed obviously. He just nodded and started the car. 

"So, where are we headed?" LiAnn asked curiously. 

"My meetings are being held at a local club. I'm sure that you'll find plenty to amuse yourselves while I'm busy." 

Mac perked up at that. "Really? Which club?" 

"The Haven." 

* * *

**Chapter Three**

The Haven was not exactly what Mac had expected. In his mind he had pictured a claustrophobic, smoke-filled room with a chanteuse crooning softly in a corner while men in black suits with a more than passing resemblance to de Niro clustered around round tables talking in whispers. In other words, something out of a bad mobster movie. 

The only thing _this_ place had in common with that image was the round tables. However, it was large and well lit, with high ceilings and a stage at one end of the room next to a spacious dance floor. There was a singer belting out the blues on the stage, backed up by a substantial band, and Mac could see Vic's expression brightening up. Vic, he knew, was a big blues fan. It wasn't really _his_ cup of tea, but if it made his partner smile, Mac was willing to put up with it. 

Outside the club, signs had proclaimed that the club was closed for private meetings for a week and Mac saw disappointed patrons of a variety of ages being turned away. Mac glanced curiously at the coming-attraction posters and was impressed by the eclectic mix of ultra-modern and more traditional music. If the meetings weren't being held at the Haven, he would have liked to have come for a night out anyway. 

They were met at the door by a dour-faced man who pointed the Director towards a private room, then led the three agents to one of the smaller tables along the edge of the room. "A waitress will come for your order shortly," he said, then vanished into the crowd. Obviously, being part of the Director's entourage meant they were going to be sitting around doing nothing while the Director did whatever it was she was here for. 

It was definitely crowded, private meetings or not. Nearly every table was filled to capacity with people who looked edgy and dangerous. A lot of them were the type that Mac wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. An attractive few looked like the type he'd _want_ to meet in a dark alley or a car seat or a hotel room or anyplace else that they might like to name. Like the red-haired beauty behind the bar talking to the bartender. She was older than he usually went for, but she had a classical beauty, like the screen sirens of the forties and fifties. 

"Would you like to order a drink?" 

The strange voice pulled Mac out of his drool-fest, and he looked up to find a harried-looking waitress standing next to him. 

"Draft beer, whatever's best around here," Vic said, predictably. 

The waitress gave him the once over. "Canadian." Either it was a comment on Vic's obvious nationality or the type of beer she was recommending, Mac wasn't sure which. He would guess the first, though. They didn't usually serve Canadian beer to California. 

"Club soda with a lime twist," LiAnn said. She'd been ordering that since they were both teenager, sent out on their first job for the Tangs. She never drank alcohol when she was 'on duty.' 

"Sex on the beach," Mac said with a grin. 

It didn't get a reaction from the young woman. She just scribbled down the order and left. Several tables were waving for her attention and she called out that she would be there in a moment. 

Mac watched her go, then turned back to find his partners watching him with identical frowns. "What?" 

Vic shook his head. "That was such a cliché," he said. 

Mac grinned. "So? I happen to _like_ sex on the beach. Haven't you ever tried it?" he added with a mock-leer. The uptight ex-cop was so much fun to tease. 

"Yes. And trust me, the sand gets into places you don't _want_ it to get into." 

Mac's eyes went wide, then he laughed. "A hit, a palpable hit! Keep it up and you might even convince us that you aren't a conservative tight-ass." The older man just flashed him a small grin. Mac was delighted. Vic rarely descended to sexual innuendo. The man could be so much fun when he loosened up. 

LiAnn just shook her head, then ignored them. 

A few minutes later, the waitress was back with their drinks. Mac just sipped his. He didn't have any intention of getting drunk, or even slightly tipsy. He'd ordered the drink simply as a way of yanking his partners' chains. It was his best form of amusement these days. He did like the tang of the cranberry juice, though. 

The chanteuse finished her set and the band swung into a old- fashioned, big band piece. Mac found his feet tapping the tune, and when he saw several people heading for the dance floor, he got to his feet. 

"Milady?" he said with a flourish and bow, holding his hand out to LiAnn. Immediately, the oriental beauty's face went blank, and she shook her head. Mac sighed, not really surprised. For a moment, the imp of the perverse suggested that he invite Vic to dance, but he decided that that might be pushing the man a little too far. It might be fun, just to see the reaction, though. 

Glancing around, he noticed the red-head standing next to the bar still. Grinning, he weaved his way through the press of bodies until he arrived in front of her. 

"Hi," he said with his best ingratiating smile. "Care to dance?" 

She stared up at him, a shocked expression on her face. 

After a moment of silence, he started to feel edgy. His shifted his weight from foot to foot, then tried again. "Um, you don't dance? Or do I have something on my face?" 

She shook her head, like someone coming out of a trance. "I'm sorry. I'd love to dance. I'm Lillie, by the way." 

He grinned. "Mac Ramsey," he told her, then held out a hand to guide her towards the dance floor. 

It was incredible. She stepped into his arms and they moved together like they'd been dancing together all their lives. The only dance partner he'd ever had who came even close to this almost telepathic union was LiAnn, and they'd grown up together. 

The one dance turned into two, then three. Finally, Mac had to call a stop, already sweating from the exercise. Lillie, on the other hand, still looked as fresh as when they started. Not even a faint sheen of sweat marred her perfection. Mac invited her to join their table for a drink. 

As they headed for the table, though, Mac noted that they were being watched by more than a few people in the room and many of them did _not_ look happy. He could understand that. As far as he was concerned, Lillie was the best looking woman in the room, even better looking than LiAnn, and she was on _his_ arm, at least for the time being. 

"Lillie, meet Vic Mansfield and LiAnn Tsei," he said as he held a chair for her. She sank into it gracefully and he dropped into his own seat. A moment later, the waitress was placing a fresh drink in front of him, and setting another in front of Lillie. LiAnn raised an eyebrow, looking at the drink. The expression on her face was one that he might have once called 'jealousy.' Now he just called it possessiveness. It hadn't escaped his notice that while LiAnn might have decided that she didn't want him or Vic, she also didn't want anyone _else_ to have them either. 

Lillie lifted her drink to her lips with a small, secretive smile. The smile grew as LiAnn's expression froze. Mac was starting to feel like he was in the middle of a potential war-zone. Vic caught his eye and gave a small, theatrical shiver, making Mac grin. 

Finally, Lillie took pity on them. "Lillie Langtry," she said, putting her glass down. "I own the Haven. Built it from the ground up." 

Mac's eyebrows went up at that. "Really? I wouldn't have thought you old enough for that." 

Lillie smiled. "Flatterer," she said in a fond tone. "Just like..." 

Mac tilted his head quizzically, but she didn't finish the thought and he wasn't about to push. "Well then, I really should thank you for taking the time to dance with me. After all, this place must take a lot of attention." 

She nodded. "Indeed. But I love to dance, and you are an excellent partner. Tell me, Mac, do you do anything else as well as you dance?" 

Mac leaned forward, grinning. "I do a great many things very well. Did you have anything particular in mind?" he asked, enjoying the chance to flirt with a beautiful woman. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vic rolling his eyes and LiAnn frowning as she looked anywhere except at Mac or Lillie. 

"Oh, I'm sure that you could think of a few things," Lillie purred. Then she sighed. Turning in his seat, Mac saw a man at the bar gesturing to her. "Unfortunately, business seems to interfere. Thank you for the dance, Mac. I hope I'll see you later." Then she was heading away. Mac sighed, watching the swing of her hips as she moved gracefully, ignoring a few rude suggestions aimed her way. The lady had class. She arrived at the bar and started talking intently to the man waiting for her there. He wasn't bad either. The short, spiky hair combined with the goatee was very hot, Mac thought. 

Mac rested his chin on one hand and sighed theatrically. "I think I'm in love." 

Vic snorted. "Not exactly your type, is she?" 

Mac straightened up. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in mock indignation. 

"Well, she's classy for one thing," Vic said with a grin, echoing Mac's own thoughts about Lillie. 

"This from the guy who runs around with hookers, crooks and bimbos," Mac shot back. 

"Would you two stop bickering, just for once?" LiAnn snapped. Both men turned to stare at her in disbelief. 

Mac shook his head. Sometimes LiAnn seemed deliberately blind. "Bickering? Are we bickering, Vic?" 

"Us? Never," Vic said, playing along. 

LiAnn glared at them, then turned back to her club soda. 

"LiAnn," Mac said, sighing. "We aren't bickering. We haven't bickered in a long time." 

"Then what do you call it?" 

Vic was the one to answer her. "Two friends teasing each other." 

"Yeah, right. Since when have you two been friends?" 

Mac and Vic exchanged identical expressions of disbelief. "Since even before physiotherapy forced us to spend long periods of time together," Mac said. "And if you'd paid any attention to us, you would have known that." 

For a moment, LiAnn's face crumpled. Then it was back to the blank, unemotional mask she'd been wearing since Michael's death. Mac's heart went out to her. He wanted to reach out, to bring her out of her self-imposed emotional prison, but he knew he wouldn't succeed. LiAnn didn't _want_ to be helped. She never let anyone in anymore. And Mac had a sneaking suspicion that if anyone would be able to draw her out, it wouldn't be him or Vic. They were too close, too sympathetic. Too tied into the problem. 

Mac turned to watch the dance floor, his thoughts turned melancholy. The old LiAnn would have been teasing them both now. Mac missed the old LiAnn. Sometimes he wondered if losing LiAnn was the price for his closer relationship to Vic. 

And if it was, he found that he couldn't really regret it. 

* * *

The evening was long and only slightly dull. Mac would have preferred to hit some of the other San Fran night-spots, but he didn't exactly have any choice in the matter. Until the Director told them they could leave, here they stayed. Still, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Here, at least, the music was good, the drinks were free and he had as many dance partners as he liked. His turn around the floor with Lillie had caught the attention of others and he had no shortage of dance or flirting partners. A couple even managed to drag Vic out onto the dance floor where the older man turned out to be a competent—but not inspired—dancer. 

LiAnn had turned down all invitations to dance. Mac sighed at that. LiAnn was an excellent dancer and she used to love to dance. Now, it was another thing she'd left behind. 

Finally, the exercise and drinks caught up with Mac, and a discreet question to a waitress directed him to a small corridor with two doors decorated with the ubiquitous silhouettes. Mac opened the door to the little boy agents room. 

Like the rest of the club, the room was classy. The floor was tile, easy to clean, but examining it with a carefully trained eye said that the materials were not cheap. The dark blue color almost glowed under the elegant light fixtures—real bulbs, not those fluorescent crap bulbs that made you look dead. The mirrors hung on the walls with gilt frames, and the walls of the stalls at the back of the room were paneled with real wood. Solid, not laminated. Mac gave a low whistle at the sight, then headed for the nearest urinal. Even they were in fanciful shapes, dark blue to match the floors instead of the usual institutional white. 

The door opened behind him, and he turned to see the man Lillie had been talking with earlier. He headed for another urinal, and Mac watched him from the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious about it. 

The man looked to be a couple years older than him, but younger than Vic. He was dressed casually in denim and leather, and Mac could smell a slight scent of musk, very pleasant to his nose. The equipment he pulled out of his pants was nicely proportioned too. 

Mac tucked himself into his pants and headed over to the sinks. He washed his hands while watching the man doing his business. Close up, he was even hotter than he'd been from across the main room. 

Mac dried his hands and headed for the door. For a moment he was tempted to wait for the mystery hunk, maybe strike up a conversation, but he decided against it. Maybe he was being a coward. Then again, maybe he was just cautious. Mac didn't make a habit of hitting on strange men—it was a good way to end up in a hospital if they took it bad. In fact, there'd only been two in the years since Michael dumped him to go chasing after LiAnn. Not that it had done his foster brother much good. Mac got there first, partly out of love for LiAnn, partly in revenge for being dumped. 

No. Maybe if they were back here tomorrow and hot stuff was too. Or maybe he'd see if Lillie was interested in following through on her suggestions. 

The bathroom door was still swinging shut behind Mac when he was hit with what felt like the proverbial two-by-four. He hit the floor _hard_ , stars dancing in front of his eyes. 

"What the..." he started to say, but the rest was choked off by a hand around his throat. He looked up to find that the hand belonged to a very attractive, dark-haired woman with a very unattractive snarl on her face. 

"You've got a hell of a lot of nerve coming around here," she hissed, hauling him to his feet as if he were made of tissue paper. Then she slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath from him. Her eyes were almost glowing with anger. "I don't know who kept you alive last time, but they aren't going to be able to do that now, you son of a bitch." 

"Rhiannon!" 

Hot stuff was coming out of the bathroom. He grabbed the psycho chick and pulled her off of Mac. Mac slumped against the wall, rubbing his throat and trying to remember how to breathe. 

"Stay out of this," the girl growled at Mac's rescuer. 

"Zane's dead! This isn't him. He's from out of town." 

"Right. Pull the other one," she said with a derisive snort. 

"Look at him! Really look." 

The man twisted her to face Mac, forcing her to look at him. The disdain on her face would have been a real ego-killer if she hadn't already been trying to kill him. Mac stared back, wondering what the hell was going on. 

The rage stayed there for long moments. Then, suddenly, her eyes went wide, then narrowed. "You're not Zane," she said, almost accusingly. 

"No," Mac rasped. 

"Who are you?" 

"Mac Ramsey. My boss is in town for meetings, and she brought me her." 

The girl twisted to look at the man restraining her. They stared at each other for a moment, then he released her. 

"Sorry," she muttered, then took off. 

"You okay?" Mac's rescuer asked, reaching out to help him stand steady. 

"Yeah," Mac said, accepting the aid. At the moment, he needed it. He was going to have one hell of a set of bruises tomorrow. "Thanks of the rescue. What the hell was _that_ all about?" 

The man sighed. "That was your face getting you into trouble." 

"Huh?" Mac's face had gotten him into trouble in the past, but it had never got him attacked. 

"Zane. He was a singer here, several years ago. He wasn't exactly... stable. Anyway, he was being investigated for several rapes, her included," he said, pointing in the direction psycho chick had gone. "He committed suicide. You... You look like you could be his twin brother." 

Mac had the feeling that there was more to the story than just that, but it made a certain amount of sense, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to press. "That why Lillie was looking at me like she'd seen a ghost?" he asked. 

"Yeah. Lillie was the one who 'discovered' Zane, you could say. He was also her lover, off and on. She... she was the one who found him." 

"Shit," Mac said with feeling. "And you?" 

"Zane was a... friend. A very _good_ friend. Before." 

"Before he went off the deep end," Mac finished for him. "Um... What's your name?" he asked, kicking himself for the hesitant tone. Real smooth, Ramsey. 

The man grinned, making a good looking face gorgeous. "Cash. And you are from Toronto." 

"Huh? How?" 

While Mac spluttered in surprise, Cash reached over and flicked his earring. A scepter turned into a 'T'. 'T' for Toronto, it seemed. 

"Any way, I'd be careful around here. Zane had more than a few enemies, and like I said, your face will get you into trouble." 

"Great, just great," Mac muttered to himself. "So much for seeing some of the nightlife, I guess." 

Cash cocked his head to the side, then smiled. "Not necessarily. You just need to have someone to run interference, just in case someone else makes the same mistake." 

"Oh?" Mac asked, perking up. He plastered on his most ingratiating smile. "Got anyone in mind?" 

Cash leaned forward, his hand coming up to rest on the wall next to Mac's head. His smile turned feral, and Mac shivered. He was being flirted with and it was _good_. "I can think of several. Me, for example." 

"Know any good dance clubs?" 

"The best in town." 

"Tomorrow?" 

"If I can convince my boss." 

Mac bit off a curse. Of course. The Director. He sighed, disappointed. "Ditto. Damn. I'll have to check." 

Cash grinned. "Well, assuming they both say okay, we'll make a night of it, then. The meeting will be here all week, so I'll meet you here tomorrow night. With any luck we can head off to someplace a little more... interesting." 

Mac grinned. "Sounds good to me. This place is great, but I like a little more action." 

"Oh, when there aren't private meetings going on, this place is _the_ place to be. Hell, it isn't bad tonight, if a little old- fashioned. Saw you out on the dance floor. You dance as well to something a little more modern?" 

"Just try me," Mac purred. 

"Oh, I think I will," Cash growled softly, leaning forward. 

Unfortunately, right at that moment someone came down the hall looking for the bathroom, and the mood was broken. Mac sighed and pushed away from the wall. 

"Tomorrow, then," he said. 

"Tomorrow," Cash said. It sounded like a promise. Then he turned and head for the employees-only door at the end of the corridor. 

"Tomorrow," Mac whispered to himself, then grinned. Tomorrow was going to be _great_. 

* * *

Mac was so distracted by the thoughts of going clubbing with Cash that he forgot what he must look like until he got back to the table. The Director had reappeared from wherever it was she'd been hiding and she frowned when she saw him. Vic and LiAnn were a little more vocal in their reactions. 

"What the hell happened to you?" LiAnn said, getting to her feet. 

"Are you all right?" Vic asked at almost the same moment. 

"Huh?" Mac said, staring at them. Then he remembered. "Oh, sorry. I ran into someone in the back." 

"You mean you ran into somebody's fist," Vic said, his expression going dark. "Who?" 

For a moment, Mac had the image of Vic running off to avenge his honor or something equally ridiculous. Well, maybe not so ridiculous. If anyone went after Vic, he'd be the first in line to take _him_ down. It was written into the Code of Partners: An attack on one is an attack on all. 

The Director was standing right in front of him now. She lifted a surprisingly gentle hand to turn his chin this way and that so that she could examine the damage. "Who did this?" she asked softly. While Vic looked angry enough to thrash someone, the Director looked more inclined to kill. Slowly, painfully, perhaps ripping a still- beating heart from the chest of the person who dared to damage her property. The woman was damned scary at times. 

"Really, I'm fine. Apparently, though, I am a _dead_ -ringer for a guy who pissed off a lot of people before he killed himself. I just ran into someone with an axe to grind with this Zane person." 

"Damn," the woman muttered to herself. Then she straightened up. "I'll arrange a flight back to Toronto for you tomorrow." 

"Hey!" Mac said indignantly. "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. Besides, I've got an invite for tomorrow night to go clubbing. Assuming you're willing to let me have the night off, that is," he added with his best pleading face on. 

The Director raised one elegant eyebrow. "A date, Mac? My, you move fast. Who with?" 

Mac nodded towards the bar. When he noticed that he was the focus of their attention, Cash grinned and raised his glass in salute. Mac snickered as Vic's eyes almost bugged out. Obviously _he_ hadn't expected the 'date' to be male. 

The Director tapped a long fingernail against her lip thoughtfully. "All right," she finally said. "I won't send you back yet, and yes, you can have tomorrow night off. Don't frown, Victor. It's unattractive. You can have the next night off. But if there are anymore problems due to your unfortunate appearance, you will be on the next flight out. Is that understood?" 

Mac nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a sigh. 

"Good. Now, if you are ready to go?" 

Obediently, they all followed her as she headed for the door. As they passed the bar, Cash called out, "Mac!" 

Mac paused, aware that the others had to. "Yes?" he said with a grin. 

"Thought you might like to see this," the man said, tossing over a framed photograph. A photograph of Zane, he assumed. 

Mac could understand why people would think he was the same person. The face in the photograph was his. The only differences were the other details. For one thing, he'd never had his hair that long. The man in the photograph had curls long enough to brush his shoulders. He was wearing a white, poet's shirt, open to the navel, and tight black pants. The photographer had caught him on stage, singing, just as he looked right at the camera—or whoever was behind it—with a soft, sultry grin. The man looked like sex personified. 

Behind him, Vic let loose with a soft whistle. "Shit, Mac. He _does_ look like you. Any relation?" 

Mac shook his head. "Haven't a clue. Dad's lifestyle didn't exactly let me get to know any of my relatives. He could be, though. I mean, I have _never_ met anyone that looked that much like me. Hell, he looks more like me than Dad does." 

"Very interesting," the Director said, plucking the photo out of his hands. LiAnn looked over her shoulder, obviously curious. "I'll do some checking, if you like." 

Mac shrugged. "Does it really matter? He's dead, I'm not. I've gotten this far in life without relatives. Besides, they probably wouldn't want anything to do with me anyway," he added softly. Vic squeezed his shoulder, and Mac reached up to pat the comforting hand. 

When he looked at Cash, the man was watching them with a smile. "Well," he said. "Looks like I get the night off, so I'll see you tomorrow." 

The smile broadened into a grin. "I'm looking forward to it." 

"Cash! Boss wants you." 

Cash twisted and shouted over his shoulder, "On my way!" He turned back to Mac. "See you tomorrow, then. Have your dancing shoes on. We're going to paint the town red." 

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Vic was proud of himself. He actually managed to restrain himself through the trip back to The Garden House. He even managed to wait until he and Mac were back in their room before opening his mouth. He didn't trust himself to say anything before that. 

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" were the first words out of his mouth, confirming his instinct to wait until they were alone. 

Mac shot him a wide-eyed parody of an innocent look. "Taking a shower and then going to bed?" he suggested, tugging at his shirt buttons. 

Vic growled. He was not in the mood to play word games with the younger man. "I mean," he said, deceptively quiet, "making a _date_ to go _out_ with a _stranger_." 

Mac grinned. "Aw, is Viccie jealous? I promise, Vic," he added, patting Vic on the shoulder. "You and I will have a night out together too. I'm sure that the Director won't object. And now I'll know the best places for us to go." 

Vic rolled his eyes. "That isn't the point! The point is, you don't know this guy. He could be planning to... to..." 

"Show me a good time?" Mac finished for him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

"You know, Mac. He might be expecting a little more than just a night of clubbing." 

"I certainly hope so," Mac said in a low purr. Vic's eyes snapped wide open. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"Well, Cash made it clear that he was... interested. I certainly hope _I_ did. What?" 

Vic swallowed, his mouth gone suddenly dry. "You're straight," was all he could think to say. Mac laughed. 

"I don't discriminate. Okay, I haven't done _many_ men. Three if you really want to get picky. But it's not like I'm a complete babe in the woods." He grinned. "Although I most definitely _am_ a babe," he said, preening a little. 

"Who?" Somehow, the only thing that had stuck was the comment about 'three men.' 

Mac blinked. "Well, Michael of course. Before he dumped me to go after LiAnn. Joke was on him, though. I got there first." Vic glared at him. "Don't look at me like that. I _did_ love her. I just didn't have a reason to pursue her while I was involved with Michael. When I did go after her, it was partly because I was in love with her and partly revenge, keeping her away from Michael." 

"And the other two?" Vic asked, choosing to drop the no-doubt still painful subject of Michael Tang. 

Mac shrugged. "You wouldn't know them. I met Jack at a dance club a couple months before the big boom. We got together a few times. Nothing serious. Haven't seen him since I got back on my feet. Both of us were horny, but we weren't really looking for anything like commitment at the time. That's the nice thing about men. They don't ask nosy questions about what you do for a living and they don't consider sleeping with you to be proof of a _relationship_. 

"And Mark... Well, you might have seen Mark. He slipped his card in my back pocket when we were leaving the Caligula." 

It was a good thing that Vic wasn't drinking then, otherwise he would have sprayed the room. "What?! You... with someone from that kinky sex club?" he almost shouted. The Caligula was a sex club they'd gone to with the Director while investigating a case, since they needed a woman to get in and LiAnn was taking the moral high ground and refusing to go near the place. The Director, of course, had turned out to be a founding member of the club. 

"What can I say? I was curious. I got home and there was a business card in my pocket, so I called him." 

"But..." 

Mac's eyes glazed over. "Man, did he know how to use a whip." 

Vic choked. The image of Mac, bound, gagged and blindfolded with a shadowy figure standing behind him flashed through his mind, both arousing and repulsive at the same time. Mac laughed. 

"You should _see_ your face! Relax, Vic. I am _not_ into pain. Mark was into pretty vanilla stuff. He prefers to get the kinky stuff from women. The Director, on the other hand, he would have had tie him up and do a tap-dance on his back in spike heels while wearing that outfit with the leather bustier." 

Vic winced at the mental image. "Sounds like just your kind of guy then," he said. "So what _did_ you do with him?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

"Vic, please," Mac said in an exaggerated patient tone. "I don't kiss and tell." 

"Aren't you doing just that right now?" 

"Well, you don't count. You're my partner, so I can tell you. But I draw the line at the intimate details." 

Vic stared at Mac for a moment. That comment seem to imply a lot of... trust. That surprised him.. "This is all nice and fine," he finally said, "but that doesn't mean that _this_ guy is safe." 

"I'm a big boy, Vic," Mac said gently. "I can take care of myself. 

"Now. If we're playing true confessions, how about you? Any walks on the wild side of the street in your past?" 

Vic glared at Mac, but had the sinking feeling that his face was turning bright red. The crow of triumph from his partner told him he was right. 

"You have! C'mon, Vic, I told you all. Who is lurking in _your_ closet." 

"Stan," Vic said, hoping that Mac would be satisfied with one name, but not really expecting him to be. 

"Your cop partner? I suppose that's not a big surprise. I had Michael and you had him. Anyone else? Any prison stories to tell," he asked with a leer. 

Vic shuddered. "No thanks. It took a few fights to convince some of them to keep their hands to themselves, though. But there was one guy... He was circling in. That's the main reason why I took the Director's offer. What about you? Hong Kong prison and all?" 

Mac waved it off. "They were hoping to get me to testify against the Tangs, so they needed to keep me alive. My life expectancy in the general population would have been measured in seconds. They kept me in solitary the entire eighteen months. So. Anybody more recent?" 

Vic sighed. He should have known that Mac wouldn't be satisfied. "Moorcock," he finally said, looking anywhere but at his partner. 

Mac was silent for a moment. "Moorcock? You mean the Shakespeare- spouting Irish terrorist slash thief? That's a joke, right?" 

Vic was sure his face was completely crimson by that point. "I ran into him that evening. He was flying out in the morning. We drank a bit, we ended up at his hotel. I'm sure you can figure out the rest." 

"Moorcock," Mac repeated, his voice full of amazed disbelief. "And you think _I'm_ nuts for agreeing to go out with Cash." 

"Well, we knew that Moorcock had never _hurt_ anyone," Vic said defensively. 

"Still, you don't seem like the type for a one-night stand." 

"I'm not. I just..." Vic stopped. He wasn't going to admit anything more. He'd just end up regretting it. 

"Still fighting the adrenaline rush from nearly getting blown up?" Mac suggested. "What about your neck? We were both in neck braces." 

Vic grinned at the memory. "There are ways to get around that," was all he said. 

"I'll bet. Listen, it's late. Let's get some sleep. If you _really_ want to continue this discussion, it can wait until tomorrow. Later today. Whatever. Just remember, it's my turn to pick the sightseeing activities." 

Vic blinked. "You still want to do that?" he asked, a little surprised. He would have thought that Mac would want to sleep until noon, then laze around until his... date. 

"Of course!" Mac said indignantly. "You're my partner. And while you sometimes have to be dragged out of your shell, you can be a lot of fun to hang around with. So unless _you've_ changed your mind, I suggest you get some sleep. You're going to need it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want a hot shower to wash the smell of cigarette smoke off of me." 

Vic watched as Mac unselfconsciously stripped and headed for the bathroom. Sometimes he envied how comfortable the younger man was with his body. Vic knew he was attractive, but he didn't like showing off his own body. It made him nervous. It made him feel like everyone was staring at him. 

He started undressing for bed, deciding again to put the shower off until morning. As soon as Mac freed the bathroom, he'd brush his teeth and leave it at that. 

Blinking, Vic found that he'd been staring at the shoe he held in his hands for a couple minutes now. He could hear the sound of the shower, and Mac crooning something off-key to himself. He was still trying to wrap his mind around this new facet of his partner. Now that he thought about it, he shouldn't have been surprised that Mac was bi. His tastes were pretty eclectic, so why not the occasional man? 

Vic sighed. No, that wasn't what was bothering him. What _was_ bothering him was this Cash person. He was worried that Mac was going to get himself into trouble when _he_ wasn't around to get him out. 

And, truth be told, he was jealous. Mac was young and attractive and everything a person could want. Just as long as that person wasn't looking for commitment, since that obviously was not in Mac's plans for the time being. It was a pity. If Mac were a little more serious about these things, Vic might be willing to try... well, something. 

On the other hand, if Mac were more serious about _anything_ , he wouldn't be Mac. 

Vic groaned, and flopped back onto the bed, his eyes already shutting. A few minutes later, he was asleep. He didn't notice when the shower turned off and Mac came out of the bathroom. He didn't notice his partner's snort of amusement. And he didn't notice when surprisingly gentle hands carefully tugged off the last of his clothes and tucked him under the covers like a child. 

* * *

Sunlight was streaming through the windows when Vic opened his eyes again. He whimpered a little at the brightness and rolled away from the windows. 

"C'mon, Vic. Up and at 'em!" 

This time Mac was up before him it seemed, and far too cheerful for the early hour. Vic snarled and tossed a pillow in the man's direction. He didn't bother to check, but it probably fell well short of its intended target. 

"Now, now. Is that any way to treat the man who has brought you coffee?" 

That got Vic's attention. His nostrils twitched as he confirmed the aroma of that life-giving fluid, as well as other enticing scents. He pushed up into a seated position and slowly opened his eyes. 

This time, it was a little easier. His eyes adjust to the light and he found himself staring blearily at his partner, who was holding a tray. 

" _Very_ good," Mac said encouragingly. "Now, scoot over. I brought breakfast too." 

Vic scooted and Mac sat next to him on the bed. For the first time, Vic noticed that while the other man was fully dressed—a good thing if he'd gone downstairs to collect breakfast—he was himself completely nude. Frowning, he realized that he couldn't remember getting undressed the night before. Besides, unless it was _really_ hot, he didn't sleep in the nude either. 

"You were dead to the world when I came out of the bathroom, so I got you a little more comfortable," Mac said, picking up on the question in Vic's gaze. He folded out the tray's legs and put it down, straddling his left leg and Vic's right leg. 

"I don't sleep naked," Vic pointed out. 

"You should try it once in a while. Besides, it's easy to get an unconscious man out of his clothes. _Into_ clothes is a different matter." 

Vic groaned and picked up his fork. Pancakes and sausage links with maple syrup: The Breakfast of Champions. Sometimes it amazed him how well Mac knew him. He didn't try to identify Mac's breakfast. 

"You could have at least left my shorts on," he said around a delicious mouthful. The pancakes were buttermilk, and they almost melted in his mouth. And they were blueberry too! 

Mac shrugged. "I didn't think of that," he said. Somehow, Vic didn't believe him, but he let the subject drop. 

"So you get to choose the itinerary today," Vic said, mopping up the last of the syrup with his last bit of pancake. "What's your pleasure?" 

Mac grinned at him for a long moment, and Vic waited. Finally, Mac took pity on him. "Well, I want to hit a couple museums. Then lunch and an afternoon of _shopping_!" He sounded as pleased at the idea as a woman. 

Vic sighed. Well, Mac had done what he wanted the day before. He could survive a day of looking at paintings and clothes. 

He hoped. 

* * *

He should have known better. He'd been expecting some hoity-toity art museum like the ones LiAnn had dragged him to back when they'd first got together. Instead, their first stop was to the Blackhawk Automotive Museum. Classic cars and paintings that included classic cars. Vic could have spent the entire day admiring the historic cars that covered a hundred years of automotive history. 

Finally, though, Mac dragged him away and into a cab. Vic could tell from the smirk on the other man's face that he was pleased with the Vic's reactions so far. 

The cab dropped them off at the Fisherman's Warf, an inevitable destination for all visitors to San Francisco. They wandered around, checking out all the little souvenir shops until rumbling stomachs forced a stop for lunch. 

Being on the Warf meant that there was only one real choice: Seafood! Remembering the recent problems over salmon fishing in BC, Vic passed that over. However, the Alaskan King Crab looked too good to pass up, and he happily tore shells apart and dipped the delicious meat in melted butter before savoring every bite. After licking his fingers clean, he decided to really treat himself and go for the cheesecake. Normally, he ate healthier, but since this trip to San Francisco was supposed to the a treat, he didn't restrain himself. However, once they got home, he would have to hit the gym to trim off some of the extra pounds he was putting on with all the rich food. 

Mac, on the other hand, went for an appetizer of raw oysters (the sight of which almost destroyed Vic's appetite), followed by mahi-mahi in a creamy sauce with a mixture of vegetables on the side. For desert he had a fruit and ice cream concoction that almost made Vic regret his own choice. 

But only almost. The cheesecake was fantastic. 

They lingered over coffee, chatting about everything and nothing. Vic wasn't going to bring up their conversation from the night before, and thankfully, Mac didn't seem inclined to press either. 

Finally, they paid the bill and headed out again. Vic was expecting the shopping to start immediately, probably involving fancy clothes shops downtown. Instead, Mac dragged him to... 

"The Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum?" Vic asked in disbelief, looking up at the building. 

"Of course! C'mon, I want to see as much as possible. I still want to do some shopping before we have to go back to the hotel." 

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Vic followed Mac in. It was times like this that he remembered just how young his partner was. And right now, he was acting even ten years younger than _that_. 

Hell, _he_ was feeling young again. They wandered through the museum looking at the strange, the odd and the downright _bizarre_. Things that made them say 'neat!' Things that made them say 'what?' And things that made them go 'ewwwww!' Time flew, 'cause they were definitely having fun. 

When they left the museum, carrying bags of souvenirs, Vic decided that maybe he should forget about trying to anticipate his partner, and the shopping confirmed that. Sure, they ended up buying clothes, but not the kind he had expected. 

"Vic, this is so _you_!" Mac told him, holding up the most garish Hawaiian shirt that Vic had ever seen. It was an eye-shattering mix of purple and orange and blue, and Vic shook his head. 

"Not a hope in hell," he said. Mac pouted, but put it back on the rack. He went rummaging through the selection while Vic looked at objects claiming to be genuine South Seas native carvings but had probably been mass-produced in Poughkeepsie. He was snickering at one improbably-proportioned fertility figure that had both breasts and an over-sized erection when Mac whistled softly. 

"Vic, try this one on," he said, holding up a shirt. 

Vic looked at it. It wasn't his usual style, but it was definitely the only shirt in the shop that he would be willing to be seen in. It was all in soft shades of blue, swirling together like water in motion. The colors blended well together and it looked like it was made from silk. 

Vic let Mac hustle him into one of the curtained change rooms, and he obediently pulled off his Henley and put on the short-sleeved shit. Then he stepped out of the booth and turned in a circle. When he had made a complete three-sixty, he waited for Mac's verdict. 

"Perfect," the younger man said with a bright smile. "Absolutely perfect." 

Vic looked at himself in the mirror and had to agree. He didn't usually wear blue, but this shirt went nicely with his coloring, and it made his eyes looking even greener than they usually did. Vic fingered the soft fabric and decided to buy the shirt. 

Mac had other ideas, though. As soon as Vic had changed back to his own clothes, he snatched the shirt out of Vic's hands. "My treat," he said, refusing to let Vic pull out his wallet. 

He marched over to the counter and put down the shirt, then pointed to the jewelry case. The woman smiled, and pulled out an earring without having to ask first. The earring was fine silver with a small blue stone dangling from it. Vic blinked. 

"Hey, it goes great with the shirt," Mac said defensively. 

Vic opened his mouth, then shut it again. Arguing was obviously _not_ going to work. Mac was already handing over the money, and despite the quality of the items, they weren't outrageously priced. 

Still, he resolved to make sure he bought something equally nice for Mac. Maybe he could get up before Mac the next morning to do some quick shopping alone. He brightened up at the thought of surprising the younger man with a present. 

They made a few more stops before heading back to The Garden House. A jewelry store where Mac picked up a gold necklace for LiAnn, an antique shop where he found an ornate dagger that he said was for the Cleaners. He even stopped at a leather shop to find something for the Director, although the shops wares made them both squirm and blush. The appraising looks they got from the other patrons especially made Vic uncomfortable. 

By that point Vic had figured out that his partner loved to buy gifts for other people and he resolved again to find the perfect present for Mac before they headed back to Toronto. 

In the end they barely made it back to the hotel in time to shower, shave and change for the evening. Vic dressed basically the same as the night before, since he wasn't going to be doing much except sit around and wait for the Director. This time, he wisely decided to stuff one of the books he'd picked up the day before in his jacket pocket to hold off the mind-numbing boredom, since he wouldn't have Mac to talk to. 

Mac, on the other hand, took twice as long as he normally did. He was wearing a pair of brown leather pants—his own, not from the Director—and a cream-colored turtleneck, with a matching jacket. He stopped in front of Vic and did a slow turn. 

"So," he said when he was done. "How do I look?" 

Vic made a show of considering the question and the outfit. "Okay," he finally said. Truth was, Mac looked good enough to eat. Cash wasn't going to be able to keep his hands off of Mac, and that still worried Vic. While he did know that Mac could take care of himself —as the younger man kept reminding him—he still wasn't sure that he trusted this Cash character. There was something about the man that seemed... dangerous. Vic wasn't sure what it was, but it bothered him. 

"Okay? Okay!?" Mac said indignantly. "I think I look pretty damn hot! Watch out San Francisco, Mac is on his way!" 

Vic snorted. "Just watch your back for the Zane fan club," he said, reaching out to press a finger against the vivid bruise on Mac's jaw. 

Mac winced and nodded. "Point taken. Don't worry, Daddy. I'll be careful." 

"Don't call me that," Vic said, shuddering. Except for genuine fathers, the only people that term applied to, as far as he was concerned, were middle-aged men looking for a young lover to convince the world that they still had it: a description that _didn't_ match him. He hoped. 

"Well then, let's get this show on the road." 

At that moment, the cell-phone in Vic's pocket rang. He fished it out and brought it to his ear. "Yes?" 

"Are you boys planning on joining us anytime soon?" the Director drawled. Vic jumped. 

"We're on our way down," he promised her, then closed the phone and dropped the tiny tech toy back in his pocket with the book. "We better get going," he told his partner. 

"Great! 'Cause I am ready to _party_." 

Vic shook his head in exasperation and followed Mac out the door. 

* * *

The same limo and same driver were waiting for them downstairs, and they were quickly delivered to the Haven. Cash was waiting out front, next to an illegally parked motorcycle. Vic had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. 

Once a cop, always a cop, he told himself, only slightly bitter after all these years. 

"Got your cell-phone?" he asked Mac quietly as they got out of the car. 

"Yes," Mac said with a sigh. 

"If you run into any trouble..." 

Mac waved him off. "If I run into any trouble that I can't handle on my own, I will call you. I promise." He waved them off, then headed to where Cash was waiting. The Director called out. 

"Home by dawn, Mac." 

"Aren't I a little old for a curfew?" he asked. 

"No." 

The blunt answer threw Mac off, but he rolled his eyes and nodded. Then he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle—taking the helmet Cash offered him, Vic was pleased to note—and they roared off into the night. 

"Relax, Victor," the Director said, tugging at his arm. "He'll be perfectly fine with Cash." 

"You know him?" 

"Not personally," she said. "But his boss and I go... way back. And I know _of_ Cash. Trust me, he won't hurt Mac, and if anyone else tries, Mac will be well protected." 

"If you say so," Vic said reluctantly, letting himself be led into the waiting club. 

"I do." 

Vic sighed again. Fine. If she trusted Cash, then he would try. While his boss still made him nervous, he couldn't deny that she was very protective of her people. 

Still, it was going to be a long night. 

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Mac whooped and hugged Cash a little tighter. It had been a while since he'd been on a motorcycle and he'd forgotten how much fun it could be. It would have been better without the helmet, with the wind whipping through his hair, but he knew better than to try it. Back at the Haven, safety-conscious Vic would have pulled him off the bike in a second if he thought Mac was heading off without a helmet. He knew the man. 

And more importantly, riding through San Francisco without a helmet would risk getting them pulled over by the police. That would _not_ make the Director happy. She'd told him to keep out of trouble and he planned to try. Not just because he was nervous about what she might do if he managed to get himself arrested. Truthfully, she probably wouldn't do much to him. She might talk the talk, but when it came down to it, she went pretty easy on them, even on those rare occasions where they managed to royally fuck up. 

No, he was more interested on staying on her _good_ side. You get perks that way. And right now he was thinking of a perk labeled 'motorcycle.' Mac was sure that with a little thought he could come up with an excuse that would fly—or that she might simply accept because she was in a good mood. 

Cash glanced back over his shoulder at Mac, flashing a crooked grin at him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, no sarcasm in his voice, just honest amusement. 

"Damn right I am," Mac replied, angling his head so that he could rest his chin of Cash's shoulder and slipped one of his hands lower until it brushed against the man's belt. Taking a deep breath, he took in the scent of the car exhaust around them, the rain sprinkling down on them and the leather of the jacket Cash was wearing. The combination was acting on him like a powerful aphrodisiac. 

Mac had barely been able to keep from drooling when he'd seen Cash at the Haven. The shorter man would be gorgeous in sackcloth, but wrapped in tight black denim pants, a dark green turtleneck and a black leather jacket he looked positively edible. Mac had been tempted to just wrap himself around the man and go for some tonsils, but had managed to restrain himself. Anticipation would make it all the sweeter when the time came. 

But it might have been worth it just to see Vic and LiAnn's expressions, Mac thought with a grin. 

And Vic! Mister Straight-and-Narrow was turning out to have some unexpected depths. It was one of the things that Mac liked about the man. LiAnn, he knew everything worth knowing about. The fact that they'd spent half their lives together meant that there was little that they _didn't_ know about each other. Vic, on the other hand, was still something of a mystery, even after two years working together. He liked the blues, he was an ex-cop and he had a younger sister. However Mac still hadn't found out the reason what his partner's beef was with his parents, other than it had been bad enough that Vic had left home before he'd even finished high school, preferring to make a go of it on his own. There was still so much to learn about the man. 

Certainly Mac _never_ would have guessed that the man swung both ways. He'd covered it well, he thought, but the revelation had floored him. And the idea of Vic and _Moorcock_ had been even more shocking. And the most shocking of all had been his own reaction to the news. For one brief moment, his vision had gone white with anger. The idea of Moorcock touching Vic made him... jealous? 

Mac gave himself a mental shake. He was _not_ jealous. There was nothing to be jealous of. Sure, he'd been teasing Vic off and on over the last year—although he'd never guessed that Vic might clue in on it—but it didn't mean he had any claim on the man, and Vic certainly had no claim on him. They were just partners and hopefully friends. That was all. He'd learned his lesson: Sleeping with your partner was a bad thing. He'd been burnt once by Michael and once by LiAnn. He wasn't going to risk it a third time. No matter how fun a tumble Vic might be, they were safer not finding out. 

After nearly a half-hour of weaving through the streets of San Francisco, Cash pulled into the parking lot outside what looked like a warehouse in an industrial area. There was no sign on the outside of the building, but Mac could hear the pulsing beat of some sort of techno music that didn't sound familiar and the lot was filled, mostly with motorcycles like the one they'd arrived on. A few knots of people smoking, drinking or just talking were scattered here and there, all ignoring the light rain that seemed so much a part of San Francisco. 

Mac pulled off his helmet and hesitated, not sure what to do with it. "Just leave it here," Cash said, hanging his own helmet off one of the handlebars. "No one is going to mess with it." 

Mac shrugged. "Your gear," he said and sat the helmet on the bike's seat, checking to make sure it wasn't going to slide off. 

One of the loitering groups had broken up, and several men and women were headed their way. Mac eyed them just a little warily, but they didn't look like they were more members of the Zane fan club, as Vic had put it. Cash grinned broadly and stepped forward to greet them. 

He hugged and kissed each of them on the lips, male and female. It didn't look overly sexual to Mac. Actually it made him think of Italian families running around kissing each other. In fact, that looked like just that: Family, Mac thought wistfully. 

Finally, Cash finished greeting them, making sure that he didn't miss anybody, and turned around. "Folks," he announced to the group in general. "This is Mac. He's here as part of the Toronto group." 

Mac blinked. He wondered what the group was going to make of the comment. _He_ still wasn't sure what to make of the comment. 

One of the men stepped forward. He was black, with long dreadlocks woven with brightly colored ribbons that matched the ribbons tied to his vest and pants. He wasn't wearing a shirt and as he moved the vest fell open, letting Mac catch a glimpse of silver rings through his nipples with more ribbons attached to them. It didn't look very safe in a fight, but since the man was more than half a foot taller than him and at least fifty pounds heavier—all solid muscle— Mac wasn't about to comment on his fashion sense. 

The man stopped right in front of Mac and stared at him for a moment. Mac stood his ground, refusing to back up or flinch. He stared into the big man's eyes, looking for some indication of where the attack was going to come from. Mac was starting to feel like the mouse being eyed by a hungry cat when the man's broad face split into a blinding white grin. "Not bad," he said in a deep, rich voice that held the trace of an island accent and swept Mac up into a hug that threatened to break ribs. Mac wasn't sure if that was approval of his appearance or his grace under pressure. He didn't much care. He was too busy remembering how to breathe. 

That broke the ice. Each member of the group came forward to hug him. Cash introduced them all by names, some of them so improbable that they had to be handles. Mac wondered briefly if Cash was his date's real name or just one he'd picked for use. Then he gave a mental shrug. Did it really matter? 

The last person stepped in to hug him, then stopped and stepped back with a gasp. Mac eyed the pretty blonde curiously. She was gorgeous —just the type he normally went for—but her face was a picture of shock. Mac sighed. Another Zane 'fan' he would guess. 

"I warned you, Grace," Cash said softly, hugging the girl from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "But he isn't Zane. I promise you." 

Grace straightened up and stepped forward. She didn't hug Mac, but she did hold her hand out for him to shake. He held it gently, letting go as soon as she started to withdraw it. Cash had mentioned that Zane had raped several girls and it didn't take a genius to figure out that this was one of them. And while Rhiannon's reaction had been anger, this one was fearful, although brave. 

Grace headed for the doors to the club, followed by the big black man, Jean-Paul. He was talking softly to her and she was slowly relaxing. Mac watched them go, then turned back to Cash. "I take it that you warned people about my face," he said in a deliberately light tone. Cash grinned back at him. 

"I told you that you needed someone to run interference. All part of the service." Cash tucked an arm around Mac's waist—being a little too short to put it around his shoulders without stretching —and steered him towards the entrance. 

The inside of the building matched the outside: a rough warehouse space converted to a dance club. A glance at the bar and the stage showed that they were temporary structures, obviously designed to be dismantled and removed easily and quickly. Mac laughed. "I haven't been to a rave in ages!" he shouted to Cash over the din of the music. The band on stage wasn't playing anything he recognized, but he didn't care. It wasn't designed to be listened to. It was for dancing. Mac's feet were already moving to the beat. 

Obviously recognizing the need, Cash pushed him out onto the dance floor, following closely behind. That was all the encouragement Mac needed and he let the music move him into a world of his own. 

* * *

When Mac came up for air, several hours had passed and he was plastered with sweat. He vaguely remembered dancing with a stream of people, Cash showing up every few numbers. He'd danced with everyone he'd met in the parking lot at least once, including the now more relaxed Grace. He'd also received several offers for a different sort of dancing, including a proposition during an almost pornographic dance with Jean-Paul that had been accompanied by several very obvious gropes that had left Mac hard and panting. Cash had broken in with a snarl that was more amusement than anger and Jean-Paul had given way with a grin. Mac had promptly draped himself all over Cash, shouting in his ear, "Got any place a little more... private?" He punctuated the suggestion with a slow grind against Cash that told him the other man was as worked up as he was. Dancing was one of the best aphrodisiacs as far as he was concerned. 

Somewhere along the line, Cash had maneuvered them over to the side of the gyrating mass of humanity. A hard shove had Mac plastered against the wall, not too far from the stage. Mac could see the bass player watching them with a leer on her face. Then Cash kissed him and Mac stopped paying attention to anything except the man who seemed determined to get him to make a mess of his nice leather pants. 

Finally, Cash pulled away, although his hips were doing a slow undulation against Mac. "You sure you wouldn't like to stay and dance a little more?" he asked with a laugh. 

"Cock-tease," Mac replied with a grin. "The only kind of dancing I want to do now is the horizontal kind." 

He was a little surprised at how forward he was being. Mac wasn't shy about sex, but he didn't usually jump into bed _this_ fast. The second date, sure, but not the first. But there was an edge to Cash that got his pulse racing and all he wanted to do was fuck the gorgeous man. Or have Cash fuck him. Right now he was easy. Damn, he was easy. 

Cash pressed another bruising kiss on him, then started pulling him towards the exit. Cash's friends waved and shouted lewd suggestions that left Mac torn between embarrassed blushes and laughter. Several of the suggestions were improbable, if not downright impossible, but others he filed away for future reference. 

Just outside the door, Cash pressed him against a wall for another kiss, this one as gentle as the last had been hard. Mac was about to decide to just come in his pants and put up with the discomfort when a sneering voice interrupted them. 

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Luna's lap-dog." 

The change in Cash from playful soon-to-be-lover to snarling fighter left Mac almost dizzy. Cash stepped away from him and dropped into a fighter's stance so fast that Mac nearly lost his balance. Then he got a good look at the four men standing there and smoothly moved into a ready stance himself. 

The men facing them all looked like they stepped off the pages of GQ. Either that or out of a Mafia movie. Suspicious bulges under jackets told Mac that the second was a little more likely. These goons were packing and they looked like they were spoiling for a fight. A fight that Cash was more than ready to give them, it seemed. 

"What do you want, Marcus?" Cash snarled. No lap-dog, this man. He was more like the junkyard dog that Leroy Brown was compared to in the song. Marcus just laughed. 

"Just looking for a night out, puppy. After all, Luna said truce for the week. Good thing for you, otherwise we'd teach you a lesson." The man in the lead was extremely good-looking with carefully styled brown hair. His pants had pleats sharp enough to cut and his sports jacket was over a collarless silk shirt that was perfectly white. He didn't look like the type that belonged at this club. The Haven, maybe, but not here. Mac hated him on sight and not just because he'd interrupted at the wrong moment. 

Cash snorted. "You and what army? That pitiful lot behind you?" 

"Cash," Mac hissed softly. "What the hell is going on?" 

A moment later he was regretting having said anything. The sound of his voice drew Marcus's attention to him. "Stay out of this, little boy," he said with a sneer. Then he frowned and stepped closer. He stared hard at Mac, then laughed. 

"So Luna's lap-dog is harboring a fugitive!" he said, his voice full of a vicious delight. Then he frowned. "Or is he? Luna said he was dead," he said, turning to Cash. His three friends were spreading out in a way that did _not_ bode well for Mac and Cash. "Luna said he witnessed the execution. Does the Prince consider himself so above us that he can _lie_?" 

Mac was really confused now. Prince? Execution?? 

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, glancing over at Mac. "He isn't Zane!" 

"No, I'm no fool. Do you expect me to buy that?" 

"He's here with Toronto. He's wearing her mark." Cash gestured to Mac. It took him a moment to figure out what the other man was asking for, then he turned his head so that the earring he was wearing was easy to see. The Director was obviously Toronto, whatever that was supposed to mean. The man reached out to touch the charm, then flicked it hard with his fingernail. Mac winced. 

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" 

"Marcus, he isn't Kindred," Cash hissed, almost too low for Mac to hear. Kindred? What the hell was that? 

Marcus stared at him for a moment. All the hair on the back of Mac's neck was standing on end. His eyes flickered to the others and he set himself into his stance a little more solidly. "Well, then," Marcus said finally. "I guess there's not much point in keeping him around, is there?" 

"Except the fact that he belongs to Toronto and you'll be breaking truce if you touch him." 

Marcus smiled slowly. It wasn't a pleasant look. "Oh, I plan to do more than touch him." 

"You know what Julian will do to you if you do." 

"He won't find out," Marcus said in a very reasonably tone. 

"And just how d you figure that?" Cash said with a snort. 

"Because there won't be anyone around to tell him." 

That was the moment when the three silent goons made their move. Two went for Cash while the third threw a punch at Mac. He almost laughed as he ducked. It was a hard punch, but the man's aim was pitiful. Mac didn't feel like laughing after blocking the second blow, though. While the man wasn't much to look at, he had a punch like a freight train. Mac made a mental note not to let any punches land. 

He caught a brief glance of Cash and Marcus between ducking blows and landing his own. His didn't seem to have much affect, but he kept looking for an opening that would let him go for the other man's eyes or solar plexus. Even an ox would go down if you hit him there. Cash was holding his own against attackers, showing a street- fighting skill that let Mac stop worrying about him. 

Marcus just stood to the side, watching. 

Mac turned his attention back to his opponent, thanking his lucky stars that none of the thugs seemed inclined to pull their guns. They probably didn't want to attract the attention that gunfire would bring, even out here. However, that didn't mean that one of them might not have a knife handy. Mac was regretting that he hadn't been able to bring any weapons with him. He was an excellent martial artist, if he did say so himself, but this guy was like hitting a brick wall. Then a glancing blow to the side of his head left him seeing stars, but he managed to dodge the next few swings while he cleared his head. 

He finally got the break he'd been waiting for. The thug swung low, leaving his head unprotected. Mac hardened his hand into a flat blade shape and jabbed at the man's eye. He fell back, screaming in pain. Then he straightened up with an almost animalistic snarl. 

That's when things got really strange. 

The face that lifted up was not the one he'd seen before. Blood streamed from the one eye, which might be permanently damaged. But now the other one was glowing with anger. Literally. Where it had been dark before—brown, maybe—it now... silver? And while the face was twisted with anger, there were now subtle differences to it. 

And when his lips pulled back in an angry grimace, it was to reveal teeth that came to points. Very _sharp_ looking points. Very inhuman points. 

"Ack!" Mac shouted, backing up. The back of his foot hit something and he landed on his rear-end in a puddle. His attacker was advancing on him with a triumphant expression on his face. In the distance he could hear Cash calling his name, but all he could see was the impossible face of the man about to kill him. "Cash!" 

Mac's head turned towards the club's entrance, where a half-dozen of Cash's friends were heading their way at a run and more were coming out of the club. Mac felt all the breath woosh out of him. Four on two was one thing. Four on a dozen was _definitely_ something else. 

"Later, lap-dog," Marcus said, heading for a car waiting with the engine running and a driver behind the wheel. Mac hadn't noticed it before, but he noticed it now as the four men climbed in and the car pulled away quickly, wheels squealing on the wet pavement. 

Their rescuers crowded around them, asking if they were all right, asking why they'd been attacked, offering to go after their attackers. Mac opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Besides, he didn't have a clue what was going on. 

"Mac, you okay?" 

Mac looked up into the face of his date. For a moment, he thought he saw a faint sheen of silver over the other man's expressive eyes. Then it was gone. He gulped. 

"What the hell is going on?" he finally asked. "Who—and _what_ — were those guys?" 

"What? I don't have a clue what you're talking about. Marcus is just a lieutenant to a guy my boss doesn't get along with. He thought he could jerk my chain." 

"Bullshit!" Mac said as Cash pulled him to his feet. "Common thugs don't have silver eyes and pointy teeth. I want to know what is going on!" 

"A trick of the light?" Cash suggested. Mac snorted. 

"I'm not an idiot and I do have eyes. Very well-trained eyes, I might add. I can look at a diamond and tell you it's market value within a few percentage points in a minute. And I am a damned good observer. Now stop jerking me around!" 

By the end of that, Mac was almost shouting. His adrenaline was still pumping from the fight and he was seriously pissed off. 

"Not here," Cash said, shushing him. He stopped, and sighed. "Listen, come back to my place and I'll explain everything. I promise." 

Mac glanced at their audience, most of which were doing a pretty good impression of being deaf and blind. "Fine," he said. "But it better be a damned good explanation." 

* * *

Cash's apartment was in an older section of town, right above a store. Looking out the front window, the bay was just barely visible in the distance. It was simply furnished, but comfortable. Mac liked it. He also thought it was also surprisingly clean for a bachelor apartment, and said so. 

"That's because I don't live here full-time. I'm bodyguard for a man named Julian Luna, so I have rooms at his place. This is where I go when I have free time and just want to get away from work and everything to do with it. For one thing, it's a little awkward taking a date to your boss's mansion," he added with the lopsided grin that Mac was learning to love. He couldn't help grinning back. It sounded like his reasons for not taking a date back to _his_ apartment where there were hidden surveillance cameras all over the place. 

Then his expression sobered up. "And is this Luna person the 'Prince' that Slick was referring to?" 

"Slick? I like that. I'll have to use it on him the next time I see him." 

"You're dodging the question," Mac said sternly. 

Cash sighed and dropped into an armchair near the window. "You're right. I am. 

"Normally, I wouldn't consider saying anything. I'd come up with _something_ to deflect you. But you're here for the meetings with Toronto. That means sooner or later, you'd be finding out these things. Actually, _she's_ the one who should be having this conversation with you." Cash looked up, a hopeful expression on his face. 

Mac shook his head. "But she's not here and you are. Talk." Mac shoved one hand in his packet to grab the tiny cell-phone there. If it came down to it, he could always call Vic for backup. But he didn't think he would need to. 

Cash stared at him for a moment. "All right. Let's start with the 'show,' then move on to the 'tell.'" 

A moment later, he'd... changed. Cash's eyes were glowing silver, his teeth were definitely fangs and when he held up one hand, the fingers ended in what looked more like claws than fingernails. Mac caught his breath, then forced himself to relax. 

"Ooooookay," he said once he was in control of himself again. "You're a vampire, I take it." Mac shook his head, wondering when he'd fallen into the twilight zone. 

Cash winced. "Please. Don't use that word. Vampires are a fictional creature invented to deflect attention from the truth." 

"Which is?" 

Cash's face reverted to the one Mac was more familiar with. "We are Kindred. Yes, we drink blood, though we usually avoid killing. It would break the Masquerade." 

"Masquerade?" 

"The image we project to hide the truth. The illusion of being normal humans. In the past it was essential. After all, it wasn't too long ago that there were lynch squads and witch burnings. Today, there are scientists who would love to dissect us to see what makes us tick. The Masquerade is survival." Mac nodded. He'd seen a lot in his short life that told him that humanity was not as far removed from their savage past as they might like to pretend. They also tend to react violently to things they didn't understand. 

Still, this was sounding pretty crazy. Mac frowned, thinking about it. "And that stuff about a Prince?" 

Cash opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally he said, "The Kindred work on a feudal-like basis. We are divided into clans, by our Embrace. Different clans have different... talents, I guess you could say, passed through the clan's blood. The Prince is the one who holds us all together, keeps us from war." 

"War?" Mac squeaked. 

"War. My clan is Gangrel. We are often bodyguards to Princes. Our loyalty is never in doubt. Marcus and his batch are Brujah. They are the thugs, the mobsters of the Kindred. It's in our... nature to be enemies. The Princes are usually Ventrue, the power-brokers. I am Julian's main bodyguard, as well as clan leader for the Gangrel in San Francisco." There was a softening to his expression as he spoke than told Mac that the relationship was probably more than just professional. 

His head was spinning with all the information. "Any other clans?" he asked. 

"Lots. But only two others are present in San Francisco enough to represented in the Prince's counsel: The Nosferatu and the Toreador. Want a drink?" 

Mac blinked at the non-sequitur. "Uh, sure. Coffee?" He needed a clear head. 

"Sure." 

Mac watched while Cash puttered around in the apartment's tiny kitchen. The apartment was mostly one big room with the kitchen separated by a low counter. The bedroom was at the back of the room, partially shielded by a folding screen. The only doors he saw probably led to the bathroom and closets. 

A thought occurred to him. "You eat!" 

Cash snorted. "Of course. Cream? Sugar?" 

"Black is fine." 

Cash came back to the living room area and handed a mug to Mac, who was now sitting on the sofa, and sat back down in the armchair. 

Mac sipped the steaming hot liquid for a minute before asking his next question. 

"What about Zane? Marcus said he was executed." 

A bleak expression passed over Cash's face. "Zane was Toreador. They're the artists and musicians of the Kindred. And they tend to be a little... unstable. I told you he'd been involved in a series of rapes. That wasn't quite accurate. What he was doing was Embracing girls who hadn't agreed to it. That means turning them into Kindred," he added at Mac's questioning look. "And one of the rules we live by is that the Prince must give permission for someone to be Embraced. It's to help keep people from finding out about us. According to the laws, he could have ordered the deaths of the girls Zane had embraced as well, but Julian isn't that ruthless though." 

"But he ordered Zane killed?" I thought you said he'd committed suicide, Mac didn't say. 

Cash shrugged. "He didn't have any choice. Zane had been warned. He'd been told to leave town if he didn't want to follow the laws. He stayed and kept doing what he'd been doing. There was no choice. Hell, a human cop who knows about the Kindred handed Zane over to us. He said that his world had no laws for what Zane had done, but ours did. Zane broke the law and paid the price." 

"And the Director? How does she fit in? And why are we _here_?" 

Cash sighed. "I can't believe she brought the three of you into this blind. Your boss is the Prince of Toronto. She's Kindred." 

Somehow Mac wasn't surprised. In a way, Cash's advances on him had reminded him of the Director's teasing, just less scary. "And these meetings?" 

"Well, I don't know much. They're pretty exclusive. But basically, the Princes of all major Kindred-inhabited cities are discussing future plans. It's the end of the millennium, after all. We can die, but we don't really age. But we can't simply move to keep people from noticing anymore. Identities have to be built. They're discussing more cooperation in the future, so that Kindred can move from city to city and have new identities waiting for them." 

Mac looked down and realized that his mug was empty and he was now coldly sober. His boss was a Vampire. He worked for a blood-sucking fiend, to use the title of a book he'd once read. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. "This is crazy," he said, putting down the mug. 

Cash just looked resigned. "Maybe, but it's true. Listen, how about I take you back to your hotel. You probably need to think about this." He got to his feet. 

"No," Mac said, surprising Cash. Hell, he surprised himself. "No." 

Mac got to his feet and moved over to stand in front of Cash. "You wouldn't hurt me?" he asked. 

Cash reached up and cupped his cheek. "Of course not," he said softly. 

"Then I don't want to go back yet." This probably wasn't the smartest thing that Mac had ever done. There was a sharp edge of fear to the desire Mac was still feeling, mixed with the left-over adrenaline from the fight earlier. Whatever the reason, he was about ready to explode. If Cash took him back to the hotel he would probably do something stupid, like jump Vic's bones. And while that was a tempting idea, he'd already decided that it wasn't a smart one. No sleeping with the partners, he reminded himself 

When Cash didn't make any further move, Mac tilted his head and went for a kiss. It was tentative at first, far more tentative than any other kiss they'd shared in the twenty-four hours they'd known each other. God, had it only been a day? 

Then it ignited, setting both of them on fire. In a moment, they were tightly wrapped around each other, each trying to devour the other's mouth. Mac's erection was doing its best to stretch his leather pants and he could feel an answering hardness in Cash's jeans, rubbing against his hip. Mac groaned and deepened the kiss. 

They'd already discarded their jackets, so Mac's hand scrabbled at Cash's back, finally getting a grip on the tight turtleneck so that he could pull it out from the waist of the man's pants and up. His hands slipped underneath to caress flesh that felt a little cool to his touch, but not alarmingly so. In fact, if it weren't for their earlier conversation, he might not even have noticed. 

Finally he broke away, pulling at the shirt, wanting more bare skin. Cash was doing the same and they ended up in a tug-of-war as each tried to strip the other without letting go. Laughing, they finally had to so that they could drop the tangled fabric on the floor. Then they were moving together again, this time bare chest against bare chest. 

Finally, need for air pulled them apart and Mac stood panting in front of Cash, who didn't even have the common decency to look out of breath. "Do you have to look so damned smug?" Mac asked between gasps. 

Cash laughed. "How 'bout we take this party someplace a little more comfortable," he suggested, nodding towards the bed. 

Mac grinned back at him. "Good idea. That way, if I faint from oxygen deprivation, at least I'll already be lying down." 

Cash laughed again and headed for the bed, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. Mac followed, watching the dance of a man trying to strip and walk at the same time. It would have been funny if he weren't about ready to come in his pants. 

Cash finally managed to kick his jeans off, revealing that he seemed to have some sort of aversion to underwear, and reached for Mac's belt. Mac growled and rubbed against him, making the man's attempts to strip him more difficult than they needed to be. But Cash was determined and he finally managed to push down the leather pants and the briefs Mac was wearing underneath. Then, with Mac hobbled by the material around his knees, he gave a hard shove. 

Mac went down hard, bouncing on the bed's firm mattress. Before he had his bearings back, he was completely naked and Cash was all over him. Mac hooked one leg around Cash's waist, pulling the man down hard against him, thrusting up at the same moment. The resulting friction made him moan and thrust harder. 

"Ma-c!" Cash groaned, then pressed down harder. He leaned down and started nipping at Mac's lower lip. Mac returned the favor by grabbing on to Cash's upper lip with his own teeth. 

Then one slow undulation against him made him gasp and he released the tasty bit of flesh. He tried to control himself—he still wanted to fuck Cash, or have Cash fuck him—but it was useless. With a load wail, he arched upwards and came. Above him he heard a matching cry, and suddenly there was even more fluid squelching between them. Then Cash collapsed down onto him, finally breathing a little heavier than usual, and rolled to the side. 

Cuddled up against Cash, enjoying the afterglow, Mac returned to the earlier topic of conversation. "So Vampire legends are wrong." 

"Right." Cash stretched, practically purring. Mac rubbed his hand in lazy circles on the other man's stomach, smearing the semen there. It was strangely pink-tinged, he noticed. 

"Garlic?" 

"Love it," Cash assured him with a grin. "I know this great Italian restaurant near here, if there's time before you head home." 

"Crosses?" 

"Get real." 

"Running water?" 

"Nope." 

"Wooden stakes?" 

"Hey, we heal fast, but we _do_ get injured. A stake through the heart will hurt _anyone_." Mac winced. 

"Point taken," he said, ignoring Cash's wince at the pun. "Sunlight." 

"Sort of. We can take small doses if we've fed recently. If we're hungry or injured, death come pretty fast. Cloudy days aren't really a problem, though." 

"Sex?" 

Cash grinned. "You can ask that after what we just did? And believe me, the Kiss is even better." 

"The Kiss?" Mac asked. He could almost hear the capital letters. 

"The Kiss is when a Kindred tastes your blood. Some say it's even _better_ than an orgasm." 

"For the Kindred?" Mac asked curiously. 

"For both. I think it's a defense mechanism. If they enjoy it, they won't turn on you." 

"I still find that hard to believe." 

Cash grinned at him. "I could prove it to you, if you like." 

Mac froze. Did Cash mean...? Was he going to agree? Then his curiosity got the better of him. "How much would you take?" 

Cash blinked in surprise. He obviously hadn't expected Mac to take him up on the suggestion. "One mouthful, maybe two. Less than would be taken for a blood test." 

"And that wouldn't... change me?" 

That made the man laugh. "No, it wouldn't. To change you would require a lot more." 

"How much more?" Mac asked, distracted from the original topic of conversation. 

"Basically," Cash said thoughtfully, "I would have to drain you dry, to the point of death, then feed you my blood." 

"Oh." Mac paused. "Do you want to... Kiss me?" 

Cash nuzzled his neck, sending shivers through him. "Oh, yeah..." the man sighed, blowing warm air across the skin, raising goosebumps all over Mac. Amazingly, he felt his cock start to harden again. 

Mac chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then relaxed. "Do it," he whispered. 

"Mac?" 

"Please? I really want to know." 

"Your boss..." 

"Isn't here. Please?" 

Cash rolled on top of him and pushed up onto his elbows. His eyes had gone silver again and Mac shivered, partly from renewed arousal, partly from nervousness. "Be very sure," Cash said earnestly. 

Mac smiled. All his doubts were quickly fading. "Do it, Cash," he said. 

The other man nodded. Mac arched, exposing his neck as much as possible. As a result, he was surprised when Cash rolled off him and took a hold of his arm. He turned his head to frown at the man. 

Cash grinned. "There's a lot of ways of feeding, Mac. In a way, it's easier to control with the wrist." He lifted the wrist in question to his mouth and delicately licked at the big vein there. Mac moaned slightly at the sensual touch. 

He almost missed the delicate prick of fangs breaking the skin. What he didn't miss was the rush as his blood started racing. Suddenly, he was even more aroused than he'd been earlier. His cock was hard and leaking against his stomach. 

For a long moment they held there, frozen, with just the sound of Mac's panting to break the silence. Then Cash gave one long suck, then a second. 

Without even a touch, Mac climaxed, shooting harder and longer than he could ever remember having done so before in his life. His eyes rolled back in his head and he screamed at the waves of pleasure ran through him before the world went black. 

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The night was still young, but as expected, Vic was bored out of his skull. LiAnn had never been much of one for idle chitchat back when they'd been engaged and she was even less so now. As a result, their corner table was probably the only silent one in the club. Around them, everyone was alternating between chatting with their companions and glaring at the other tables suspiciously. There was very little cross-table conversation. 

LiAnn spent most of her time watching the band while Vic read his book. In a way it was nice. He was doing more reading that week than he normally had time for in any three months put together. He didn't feel ridiculous for reading in a nightclub. After all, it was better than going numb with boredom. He'd offered one to LiAnn, but she'd turned up her nose at the mystery novel. She only liked literary classics and non-fiction, he remembered. Well, those and the stash of romance novels she thought was safely hidden under her bed. 

So no, that didn't bother him. What did were the glances LiAnn kept sending his way: Like she was watching some strange beast in the zoo and wasn't sure how it was going to react. Like she was trying to solve some intricate puzzle. 

Finally, he'd had enough. He shut his book with a snap and set it down next to his still mostly-untouched drink. "What is it, LiAnn?" he said. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, blinking in obviously fake confusion. 

"Don't give me that," he said. "I know you too well. You've been watching me all night. Something's bugging you, so give." 

She opened her mouth, probably to protest, then shut it. "Just paying attention," she said with a shrug. 

"Huh?" Real swift, Vic, he thought to himself. 

LiAnn glanced around the room, then turned back to him. "Last night you and Mac said I didn't pay any attention to you. So, now I'm paying attention. Do you have a problem with that?" She sounded very defensive about it. 

Vic stared back at her for a moment. This was the first crack in her armor that he'd seen in nearly a year. "No," he said quietly. "Paying attention is good. Learn anything interesting yet?" 

She took a sip of her club soda before answering. "You never used to read so much," she said. Vic shrugged. 

"I never had time." 

"No, that's not it. You always seem to have a book handy these days, whether you read it or not. When we were engaged, your first choice was to find a TV and see if a hockey game was on." 

Vic thought about it and was a little surprised to find that she was right. Now that he thought about it, he used to feel uncomfortable reading when LiAnn was around. He could still remember the occasional comment about his education, which was admittedly lacking compared to hers. As a result, he'd felt like she was looking down her nose if he read something as lowbrow as a detective novel. He still felt that way, truth be told. The difference was, it didn't bother him anymore. "Anything else?" he asked. 

"You're worried about Mac." 

"Of course I am. He's my partner— _our_ partner. Aren't you?" 

She shrugged. "He's a big boy. He _does_ know how to take care of himself, you know." 

"Yeah, but sometimes he acts like he's five years old," Vic muttered to himself. 

LiAnn laughed. It was short and strained, but it _was_ a laugh. "Sounds to me like you're feeling your age," she said. 

"I am not," Vic protested. 

"Really? I mean you are ten years older than him." 

"Nine," Vic said defensively. "And a bit. And that has nothing to do with anything." 

LiAnn shook her head. "If you say so," she said. "But you seem a little over-protective of him. Big brother instincts coming out? Don't like to see little brother going out with new friends?" She eyed him for a moment. "Or maybe you're just jealous." 

"I am not jealous," Vic said, already regretting having started the conversation. "I just think that he should have more sense than to go running off with a complete stranger when he _knows_ there are people who are going to be after him because he looks like this Zane person. Not to mention that this Cash obviously..." 

"Obviously what? Wants in his pants? A lot of people do, Vic. Why, do you? Is that what the problem is?" LiAnn's expression turned into a small sneer. 

"Of course not," Vic said with a snort, reminding himself of all the reasons that he shouldn't. The list was well-rehearsed by now. 

"Why not? He's good at it. Believe me, I know." 

Vic eyed LiAnn, worried at the change in tone. At first, it had sounded like she was coming out of her shell. Now she just sounded bitter. "Are you all right?" he asked gently. 

"I'm fine," was the automatic response. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before LiAnn pushed to her feet. Vic started to get up too, but she shook her head and headed for the back corridor where the washrooms were. Vic watched her go, a sad expression on his face. She was still fighting a lot of pain. He just wished he could help her. It hurt to see her in pain, like this. He wasn't in love with her anymore, but he had been, and he still had a place for her in his heart. 

He sighed, and took a long sip of his beer before picking up his book again. But this time he couldn't seem to lose himself in the investigations of two British inspectors the way he had before. Instead, he ran the conversation over in his mind. 

She was right. He _was_ jealous. Whether it was because Mac was with someone else or because Mac could _go_ with someone else without a second thought, he wasn't sure. Vic had never been able to go for casual sex the way that the younger man did. 

And much as he hated to admit it, there was a grain of truth to her comment on ages. He usually avoided thinking about it, but he _was_ significantly older than any of his partners. Mac was barely twenty- six, while LiAnn and Jackie were both twenty-seven, although the blonde seemed much younger in her mania. 

And Vic? He closed his eyes and groaned silently. He was turning thirty-six in a few months. He was getting old. All right, some people might laugh at calling thirty-six 'old,' but they weren't field operatives. In his line of work he was almost ancient. His endurance wasn't what it had once been and it was only a matter of time before his reflexes started to go. If he had to guess, Vic would say that he only had two years, maybe three if he were lucky, before he had to retire from field work. 

And then what did he do? He had trouble seeing himself behind a desk doing research or planning for the Agency. Would they cut him loose? If so, he would have trouble finding work, since for the last seven years he'd been doing work that couldn't go on a resume. Plus, there was that pesky little detail of the drug conviction, frame-up or not. 

Then again, maybe the Agency just shot over-the-hill agents, the way that race-horses that lose too many races were put down. Vic snorted. He had trouble seeing the Director doing _that_. She'd probably find some way of getting more use out of him until he died. 

And if he wasn't pulled from the field soon enough, that could happen sooner rather than later. 

"All by yourself tonight?" 

Vic's eyes flew open at the unexpected voice emerging from the background noise. Standing across the table from him was the Haven's owner, Lillie Langtry. "No," he said, suddenly feeling a clumsy country bumpkin. He had the feeling that Lillie had that affect on a lot of people. "LiAnn just stepped out for a moment." 

"And the delightful young man with the excellent dancing skills?" she asked, raising one eyebrow delicately. 

"Gone dancing. Cash took him clubbing tonight." 

She sighed slightly. "Pity. I was hoping to... dance with him some more." 

Vic frowned at the obvious innuendo dripping from her voice. Looked like Cash wasn't the only native who wanted into Mac's pants, as LiAnn had so crudely put it. "Sorry to disappoint you," he told her, his face as expressionless as he could make. He was pretty sure that she saw right through him, though. 

She waved off the comment. "Quite all right. It's just that he's a very attractive man." She smiled seductively. 

"Who happens to look a lot like Zane?" 

That finally got an honest reaction from her. "You knew Zane?" she asked in surprise. 

"Nope. Just heard about him last night after someone who _really_ didn't like him took a swing at Mac." 

"I hope he wasn't hurt," she said, sounding genuinely concerned. 

"Nah, just bruised. Cash stepped in. Um... Were Cash and Zane..." His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out a delicate way to ask his question. 

"Lovers?" Lillie finally sat down and a waitress promptly appeared with a drink for her. She ignored the service, taking it for granted. "No. Just close friends since childhood. Besides, Zane's tastes didn't lean that way." 

"Let me guess. They leaned more your way." 

A bright smile brought out dimples in her cheeks. "Oh, yes. We were lovers for nearly a year before he died." 

"Mac isn't Zane," Vic pointed out. There was something about the woman that made him nervous. In a way she reminded him of the Director, which made him want to protect his partner. 

Her laugh chimed like bells. "Of course he isn't," she said. "For one thing, while he was a wonderful singer, Zane couldn't dance at all. But the resemblance is certainly intriguing, don't you think?" 

"Maybe," Vic said, noncommittally. "Uh, oh," he said, noticing LiAnn heading across the room towards them. A man sitting at one of the other tables had reached out and grabbed her arm as she went by. "Looks like trouble." 

Lillie looked over and the smile faded from her face. Now, more than ever, she reminded him of the Director. Her look was cold enough to freeze and hot enough to fry. "I'll take care of this," she said, holding out a hand to restrain Vic from going to his partner's aid. 

Vic slowly settled back into his seat. His instinct was still to go over and deck the man who obviously wasn't willing to take no as an answer from LiAnn, but he found himself almost glued to his seat. Well, he told himself, justifying his inaction. It _is_ her club, after all. 

Her walk had none of the seductiveness that seemed so much a part of her as she headed over to where the disturbance was spreading. Others were speaking up now, both for the man and for LiAnn. But they all fell quiet as Lillie came close. 

She stopped right next to the two and reached over to touch the man's wrist. Her fingers curved around it as far as they would go and she squeezed. She didn't _look_ that strong to Vic, but the man's face went white with pain and his hand opened automatically. LiAnn immediately stepped back out of his reach. Lillie turned towards her and said something softly. LiAnn nodded, then headed for Vic again. 

"Are you all right?" he hissed as she sat down in her seat again. In the background Lillie was speaking, low and intent, to the man who now looked both cowed and terrified. Vic was curious, but dismissed it since there didn't seem to be any further trouble coming from that quarter. 

"Of course," she replied. "He just didn't like it when I told him that I was _not_ interested in a party with him and his friends." She snorted, then took a sip of her club soda. "Vic." She hesitated, then reached over and laid a hand on his. "What I said before, I was out of line. I'm sorry." And she did sound genuinely sorry, he was a little surprised to note 

"Hey, that's okay," he told her. "Things haven't been easy for the last while." Since Michael, he thought to himself, although he wasn't about to say that out loud. "Consider it forgotten." 

She shook her head. "No, really. I mean, if you and Mac _were_ to... get together, I'd be happy for you." 

Vic snorted. "That's not going to happen. He's even more commitment- shy that _you_ are." 

"Maybe," was all she said before Lillie rejoined them. 

"I am sorry about that," she said, not sitting down. "It won't happen again," she added, looking over to where the man was sitting, cradling his wrist to his chest. He caught the glance and paled even further. Lillie turned back to them. "I do hope you won't hold it against us." 

"Of course not," LiAnn said with a frown of confusion. "Why would I hold anything against anyone but him?" 

"No reason at all," Lillie said smoothly. Then she turned to Vic and her expression was one of frank appraisal. Her smile returned and this time it was pure heat where before it had just been friendly warmth. "Well, since your Mac isn't here, perhaps _you_ would dance with me." 

Vic was on his feet before he realized that he'd moved. "He's not my Mac," he said. 

"Of course not," she replied, sending a conspiratorial glance LiAnn's way. It wasn't returned, but that didn't deter her. 

She led Vic out to the dance floor where several other pairs were dancing. "I'm not as good a dancer," he warned her as he put his arms around her delicately. It wasn't that he was afraid of hurting her, after that demonstration of her strength. He was just being... cautious. 

"I think you underestimate yourself," she replied before she smoothly maneuvered him into the pattern of a tango. 

* * *

Vic stood under the spray of hot water, soothing muscles that were aching. He'd surprised himself on the dance floor. He knew the basics of all the dance styles Lillie had insisted he partner her in, but he hadn't realized that he knew some of the moves he'd been performing. His muscles hadn't realized it either, and they ached as though he'd been tense all evening. 

Still, it had been interesting. He'd also been delighted at the signs of cracks in LiAnn's rock-hard facade. It looked like she was finally starting to recover from her emotional pains. He just hoped that she wouldn't revert once they got back to Toronto and their normal lives. 

The Director had looked tired but satisfied when she'd collected them early in the morning. Whatever these meetings she was attending were about, she was pleased with the way they were going. He just wished he knew what they were about. All attempts to pry were fondly, but firmly, rebuffed. Nothing he need worry about was all she'd said. 

Vic dried off and pulled on his pajamas before climbing into bed. It was nearly four in the morning and there was no sign of Mac yet. He'd promised to be 'home' before dawn, and while he still had a few hours left before then, Vic couldn't help but be a little worried. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to not getting any sleep until his partner came through the door, safe and sound. It wasn't that he didn't _trust_ Mac. The younger man just seemed to attract trouble as easily as he attracted admirers. And he still wasn't sure he trusted Cash, even if the Director and Lillie both seemed to. Ever since his betrayal at the hands of his fellow cops nearly a decade earlier, he'd had a problem with trust. LiAnn had been the first to overcome that, Mac the second. No one else had yet. 

Less that half an hour after he'd turned out the lights, he heard a soft "scrape, scrape" of someone working the door lock. He reached for his gun on the bedside table, then cursed softly when he realized that it wasn't there. It was back in Toronto. 

He rolled towards the edge of the bed where he'd be out of sight of the door and sat up. He knew that it was probably Mac, but he wasn't about to take chances. 

The door opened and he held his breath, waiting. Then a thump and a muffled curse told him all he needed to know. "Just turn the light on, Mac," he said, exasperated. 

There was a moment of silence, then the lights came on. "Sorry," Mac said sheepishly. "I didn't want to wake you up." 

Vic was already climbing back into bed. "I wasn't asleep yet," he said. "Enjoy your evening out... Shit!" Vic sat up straight again as Mac came around the corner. "What the _hell_ happened to you?" 

Mac looked both tired and relaxed at the same time, but what had caught Vic's attention was his face. When Mac had left the Haven with Cash he'd had a bruise on the left side of his jaw, already starting to fade. Now he had a large, purpling bruise on his right cheek, not much below his eye. 

"Hmm?" Mac said, then lifted a hand to his cheek. "Oh, that. Just a run-in with some unfriendlies. Cash and I handled it with no trouble at all." Mac's eyes flicked to the side, and Vic wondered just how much trouble "no trouble at all" was. Mac was a lousy liar. "I'd already forgotten about it. And the night was great, thank you very much." 

"Damnit, Mac, can't you do anything without getting into trouble?" Vic snapped as Mac started to undress. He knew the words were a mistake before they left his mouth, but was powerless to stop them. 

Mac's eyes snapped angrily. "Back off, Vic. You're not my father." 

Vic winced. The comment hit a little too close to home after his earlier worries about getting old. "Sorry," he said softly. "I was just... worried." 

The anger faded as quickly as it had flared. "That's all right. Really, I can take care of myself. And it was an... informative night." There was a strange note to Mac's voice, one that Vic wasn't sure how to interpret. Then it was gone and the serious expression was replaced with a typical Mac leer. "But how was _your_ evening? Meet any lovely ladies?" 

Vic snorted. "It was... interesting. LiAnn nearly got into a fight with a guy who tried to hit on her and I danced with Lillie. Turned down an invitation to stay the day, though." 

"What? Are you nuts?" Mac said, looking up in surprise. "She's gorgeous!" 

Vic just shrugged, not replying. He wasn't about to tell his partner that the lovely Lillie Langtry had scared the bejeezus out of him with the invitation. Her expression had been... predatory, like she wanted to eat him whole, and not in a good way. 

Instead, he yawned. The late nights combined with waking up before mid-morning was catching up with him. Mac echoed the yawn before climbing into bed, naked as usual. 

"Hey, Vic," Mac said, out of the blue. 

"Hmm?" Vic was already starting to sink into the sleep that had been so elusive earlier. 

"It's been a really long night. Any objections to just taking it easy tomorrow? Sleep in and hang around here for the day?" 

Vic's head felt like it was floating a foot above the pillow and he moaned faintly. He was so tired. Then he realized Mac was waiting for an answer. "Fine, whatever," he mumbled. 

And then was gone. 

* * *

When Vic woke, the sun was doing its best to find a way around the heavy drapes that he had remembered to close the night before. No bright flood _this_ morning. Its only success was a thin line on the wall where it had worked its way around the edge of the dark fabric. Vic glanced at the clock and found that it was almost lunch-time. He sat up and stretched, then glanced over at the other bed. 

Mac was just a vague lump under the covers, dead to the world. He didn't move at all as Vic got up, washed his face, shaved and brushed his teeth. He didn't even stir when Vic turned on the lights long enough to get dressed. Vic snorted in amusement as he headed for the door. 

His grumbling stomach led him to the small dining room where he found that the hotel's kitchen provided as wide a variety of lunch options as it did breakfast. He indulged himself in the best pastrami sandwich he could ever remember having, along with homemade potato chips and coleslaw with a pickle on the side and a beer from a local micro-brewery. Simple, basic and mouth-watering good. 

When he was done, Mac still was asleep and there was no sign of LiAnn. He was going to go for a walk when a thought occurred to him: This was the perfect time to go looking for that present he wanted to find for Mac. Smiling at the thought, he slipped back into the room long enough to leave a note for Mac, just in case the man woke before he got back, and to grab his wallet and cell-phone. He asked at the front desk for suggestions of where to go and ended off with several suggestions. 

They directed him to an area of town crowded with antique stores, curio shops and other stores with not a tourist trap to be seen. Vic walked along, peering in through front windows, wondering just what would appeal to his sometimes frivolous, sometimes serious partner. He found a flowing silk scarf that was perfect for LiAnn, but nothing that said "Mac" to him. 

After almost an hour of looking, Vic wandered into yet another antique store. As well as finding something for Mac, he was also looking for a gift to take home for his sister. She'd finally returned from her volunteer work in India—a job arranged for her by the Director, much to his chagrin—and had surprised him by promptly heading off to university, something she'd sworn she'd never do. It was 'caving in to the status quo,' she'd always said. 

The Alice who'd come back from India was different from the self- named Allegra who'd left a year earlier. Calmer, steadier, although no less an idealist. But now she had more realistic goals, which was why she was now planning on studying law. She was going to take on the status quo and change it from within, she said. They'd had to twist his arm to get him to agree with letting her go to Asia, and now he was glad he'd given in. 

He found a small wooden box, ornately decorated with carved elephants and Indian figures and lined with sandalwood, at the back of one shelf and decided that it would be perfect for his sister. He was headed for the cash when a display case of jewelry caught his eye as he walked past. He stopped and glanced over the contents, just out of curiosity. 

It was the usual mix of the nice and the tacky: Glass beads mixed with cameos and gold, even an attractive amber pendant with a price tag that made him wince. Just as well that neither LiAnn nor his sister liked amber. 

He was about to keep going when a flash of light drew his eye to a cluster of pendants at the back of the case. He leaned in for a closer look, but couldn't tell which one had made the flash. 

"Can I help you, sir?" 

Vic looked up to find the cashier watching him expectantly. "Could I take a look at those?" he said, pointing to the chaotic jumble. 

The woman pulled out a key attached to her belt by a chain and unlocked the cabinet. She lifted out the tray of pendants, closed the case and placed it on top. "Any one in particular?" she asked. 

"Um..." Vic ran a finger over the pieces, trying to figure out just why he was bothering. Then he jumped. For a moment it had felt like he had touched a live wire. He reached down cautiously and drew out a simple pendant hanging from a black leather thong. 

It was like nothing he could remember having seen before. It was bright silver in color, except for the crevices that were black with... something. Tarnish or enamel, he wasn't quite sure which. It looked more deliberate than not. He tried to follow the dips and curves of the design, but quickly got lost in the complexity and blinked, trying to clear his head. For a moment he was almost dizzy from the effort. 

His first instinct was to drop it back on the tray, buy the box and keep going, but something stopped him. He cupped his hand around the pendant as it swung in mid-air, staring at it. Then it brushed against his palm and another shock went through him. He blinked, and suddenly he was somewhere else. 

He was deep in a forest, silent except for the rustle of leaves above his head. The ground beneath his feet was covered in a thick layer of dead leaves, slowly dissolving back into the ground. It was quiet. It was eerie. It was beautiful. 

"It is, isn't it?" 

Vic turned, and was somehow unsurprised to find Mac there. The younger man was leaning against an oak tree that had to be centuries old, it was so large. He looked surprisingly at ease, city-boy that he was, and his clothes reflected that. Jeans so old that they were almost white hugged his legs and a faded red shirt hung open almost to the waist, not tucked in. 

And hanging around his neck, nestled into his dark chest hair, was the pendant. 

"What's going on, Mac?" Vic asked, looking around. He was confused, but strangely unworried. 

"You'll understand when the time comes," was the enigmatic reply. 

Vic turned back to Mac, but the man was gone. In his place was a black panther with glowing silver eyes. Vic stumbled backwards, his heart suddenly pounding, but with... anticipation, not fear? The oversized feline just watched him, somehow managing to convey amusement without moving or making a sound. 

There was a low cough, and a second feline stepped out from between two trees and moved over to rub against the panther. But this one was a mountain lion with bright green eyes, as out of place in this ancient wood as the panther. They both stared him for a moment, then turned and left, moving silently as they disappeared from sight. 

"Sir, are you all right?" 

Vic blinked and shook his head to clear it before turning to face the concerned saleswoman. "I'm fine," he said, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. Something had just happened, but he wasn't sure what. All that was left was a confused jumble of images. The only one that remained clear was the one of Mac wearing the pendant and a feeling of rightness that went with it. 

"How much for this one?" he asked, not really caring about the answer. As far as he was concerned, the pendant was already sold. 

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

By the time Mac woke up, it was after one and the previous night felt like some sort of weird dream. He was alone in the room, so Vic had obviously gone to find food, and the growling in Mac's stomach suggested that it thought that was an excellent idea. 

A glance in the bathroom mirror told Mac that at least _part_ of last night hadn't been a dream. The side of his face where the goon —Brujah, Cash had called them—had landed a punch was black and blue from the cheekbone all the way down to the curve of his jaw. He prodded it gently with a fingertip and winced. It was a miracle that nothing was broken and that he hadn't lost any teeth, although one or two felt a little loose. It hadn't felt this bad the night before, but he'd probably been riding a wave of adrenaline. 

He showered and shaved, taking extra care around the bruised side of his face, then dressed to head downstairs. Periodically his stomach would growl to remind him that it had been almost a full day since he'd last eaten and that in the meantime he'd been in a fight as well as—he glanced at his wrist and caught his breath at the faint marks of two puncture wounds, almost completely gone now—as well as... donating blood. 

For a moment, all the blood he still _had_ rushed to his groin at the memory of that bite and how it had felt. His eyes glazed over and he moaned faintly before he pushed back the slow burn of arousal using sheer willpower. 

At last as fit to be seen by human eyes as he could make himself, Mac went to collect his room key and finally noticed the piece of paper next to it. He picked it up and scanned over Vic's untidy scrawl. 

"Shopping?" Mac pouted. Vic had gone shopping without him? He felt a little disappointed that his partner hadn't woken him to go too. Then he shrugged. It wasn't like they had to spend _all_ their time together. After all, he'd had an evening out to himself. But still, he _liked_ spending time with Vic, now that the older man had loosened up a little. Not that he'd ever _say_ so, Mac thought to himself with a grin. 

Mac locked the door and headed for the stairs. Even though it was late for lunch, delicious smells wafted up from the kitchen and dining room, making his stomach growl even louder than it had before. 

Then he paused and turned his head to look at the door to the Director's suite, memories of what Cash had told him flashing through his mind. The door stared back mutely. No answers there. 

But there were answers behind it, assuming that the Director was up or willing to tell him anything. But a thin thread of fear held him back from knocking on that door. He was comfortable with the Director he knew; the flirtatious woman who was both fond of and firm with her agents, alternating between controlling them with an iron fist and being a teasing friend. She only ever told them as much as she thought they needed to know. He wasn't sure how she'd react to the fact that he now knew more about her and what she was than she'd ever told them. 

On the other hand, he wouldn't know unless he asked. 

Steeling himself to confront both the familiar—the Director— and the unfamiliar—the Prince of Toronto—Mac walked up to the suite door and knocked. 

He regretted the impulse almost immediately, and he started praying that either she wasn't there or that she hadn't heard the knock. Of course, he prayed in vain. Within seconds, the door opened and the Director stared up at him. For a moment she looked pissed at the interruption, but only for a moment. Then she got a good look at his face and the door swung wide open. 

"Inside, Mr. Ramsey," she ordered. "I want details, and fast." 

Mac moved past her into the suite's sitting room. It was a strong and powerful room, decorated in jewel tones and with rich materials. A laptop sat open humming on the antique wood desk in the corner, which was also covered with papers, telling him that she'd been working when he'd knocked. A small dining table sat opposite it, and two sofas flanked a large fireplace with a marble mantle. A small blaze crackled merrily in it. The overall effect was warm and friendly. He hoped that it was a good omen. 

"Sit down," she told him, waving him towards the sofas. "Have you eaten yet?" Mac's stomach growled before he could answer her and she smiled. "I'll take that as a no." 

She picked up the phone and spoke softly into it before moving to join him. "Lunch will be here shortly. Now, what happened? And don't leave out any details." 

Her expression went completely hard on the question and Mac swallowed, wondering how he was going to explain it all. Finally, he decided to include everything and hope for the best. 

"Cash and I were jumped by four Brujah looking for a fight with a Gangrel," he said, deliberately using the Kindred terms that Cash had used. "Then they got a look at me and decided that the Prince of San Francisco had lied about witnessing the execution of Zane, who it seems was an out-of-control Toreador. So, they decided instead just to kill us both. Some of Cash's friends came to our rescue and the four took off. I went back to Cash's place with him where I got a somewhat complete explanation about the Kindred, although he said I should really get be getting that lecture from the Prince of Toronto, that being you, it seems. Then, later on, he brought me back to the hotel, well before my dawn curfew," Mac added with a grin. "I figured it was too late to talk to you, so I went to bed." 

Finished, Mac took a deep breath and sat back to wait for the reaction. 

"Were you wearing the earring?" 

Mac stared at her blankly for a moment, then remembered her marker and lifted a hand to touch it. "Yes. Cash pointed it out to them, but they said they didn't care." 

Her eyes narrowed. "Names?" 

He shrugged. "Cash called the leader of the bunch Marcus. I didn't get any other names, though. I was a little busy for introductions." 

"I... see. I'll talk to Luna tonight, although I'm sure that Cash has already reported the breach of Truce to him. Your four Brujah will probably find themselves staked out for the sun, knowing him." The pleasure in her voice at the thought made him shiver. Usually she was easy to deal with, to trust, and then she would say something like that and he'd end up terrified of her, however briefly. 

Mac was really confused now, though. The Director was taking it all in stride. She was upset about the attack, but not the rest. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it again several time before he could force out anything coherent. "You don't seem upset about me finding out about the... Kindred, Cash called your kind?" he finally asked. 

There was a knock at the door before she could answer him. She opened the door, and a hotel employee came in, pushing a serving tray. A plate with a club sandwich and fries, as well as a Tsingtao beer, was placed in front of Mac, then the server left after receiving a generous tip from the Director. 

She turned back to find him staring at her, waiting. "Well?" she said impatiently in an almost maternal tone. "Eat your lunch before it gets cold." 

Mac wasn't sure he _could_ eat, he was so nervous, but he obediently picked up a fry and stuck it in his mouth. 

The moment it hit his tongue, his body promptly reminded him just how hungry he was, and he started eating, barely pausing long enough to chew the food before swallowing. 

When the plate was bare, he sat back again, sipping the last of his beer. Now that his stomach was full, he found he wasn't as anxious about her reaction as he had been before. 

She was watching him with a fond smile on her face. "Better?" He nodded. "Good. And now, I'm not upset. In fact, I'm quite pleased." 

_That_ surprised Mac. "Pleased?" He thought about it for a moment. Understanding wasn't long in coming. "You _wanted_ us to find out about the Kindred. That's why you brought us with you. You figured that after a few nights sitting in a club full of... vampires, we'd twig, sooner or later." 

The smile was full of pride now. "Very good, Mr. Ramsey. In fact, I rather expected that you would be the first to 'twig,' as you put it. I'm glad to see that my faith in you is not misplaced." 

Then her expression turned cold again. "But the method was _not_ what I had planned. As soon as we arrive at the Haven tonight, you and I will go to lodge a formal complaint with Luna." 

"Do we have to?" Mac asked nervously. "I mean if Cash has already told him about what happened..." His voice trailed off. He really didn't want to meet a man who could order the deaths of his own people so casually. Of course, the Director had done it in the past too, but he _knew_ the Director. Luna was an unknown as far as he was concerned. 

The Director shook her head. "If I let this slide, then I'm saying that I'm weak. I do _not_ want to have challengers trying to take my city away from me." Then her voice softened a little. "But we'll do it privately, out of consideration for our host. You won't have to face any of the others." She paused, then grinned. "At least not yet." 

Mac nodded reluctantly. He still didn't like the idea, but he did understand the reasoning. In a way, it was a lot like the Hong Kong crime families he'd been around growing up. You never showed weakness, or you opened yourself up to attack, but if someone could be a useful ally in the future, you gave him the chance to save face. It was a little strange thinking of his new "Family" in the terms as his old one, but the parallels were obvious. 

Then a thought occurred to him. "What about Vic and LiAnn?" he asked. "What do I tell them?" 

The Director leaned back in her seat, tapping a thoughtful finger against her lips for a moment before answering. "About the attack, anything you like. About the Kindred, nothing for the time being. I still want to see if they figure it out on their own." Mac nodded. 

His plate was empty and the conversation seemed to have reached a logical conclusion, so he got to his feet to leave. 

Just before he opened the door, the Director called out. "Mac?" 

He stopped and turned around. She nodded to him. "You did well. I'm glad to see you didn't disappoint me." 

Mac couldn't help grinning at the praise. Then he headed off to kill time until they had to leave for the Haven. 

* * *

Mac spent the rest of the afternoon out on the back patio, overlooking the hotel's gardens, enjoying the somewhat weak sunshine. While the clouds kept it from being sunbathing weather, it was still a hell of a lot warmer than back in Toronto. Back there, there was snow on the ground—well, at least slush. Here, he could sit out in short sleeves without getting a chill. 

An hour before sunset, he finally went in to change for the evening. When he got to the room, he found the shower in use. Vic was obviously back from his little shopping trip. 

Mac stopped in his tracks, looking at his bed. Sitting on his pillow was a small white box, tied with a ribbon and decorated with a bow. A slow grin spread over his face. Vic had bought him a present. 

He sat down on the bed and picked up the box. He held it to his ear and shook it, playing the old "try to figure out what it is before opening the box" game. It rattled slightly, but that was the only clue. Mac finally gave in to his curiosity and undid the ribbon. 

The lid lifted away to reveal a pendant strung on a leather thong, sitting on a bed of cotton. Mac snagged the thong and lifted it up, fascinated by the way the light played across the intricate twists and turns of the metal. He'd never seen anything like it before, and yet it was strangely familiar. 

He reached up with his other hand and lowered the pendant slowly into the palm. 

Mac gasped. It felt like every hair on his body—and he had a lot of hair—was suddenly standing on end. He blinked, and the world tilted on its axis. 

He was home, in Toronto. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. He was in bed, and it was _his_ bed, made with _his_ sheets and covers, but the room itself was completely unfamiliar. For one thing, there were no windows in the room. 

He was naked, which made sense since he was in bed. He'd never liked sleep tied up in pajamas. However, he was also very, very aroused, despite being completely alone in the bed. 

Then there was a coughing noise, and he looked towards the bedroom door. He caught his breath. Standing there was a very large mountain lion with brilliant green eyes. Very _familiar_ green eyes. Mac sat very still as it stalked across the room towards him. Part of him was screaming at him to move, and yet he was strangely unconcerned. 

The oversized cat leapt up onto the bed and came closer, finally stopping when it was straddling his body. Then, making a rumbling noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, it settled its weight down on him and _damn_ it was heavy. 

Just when he thought he was going to be crushed, the cat's shape did a melty twist and was suddenly gone. Left in its place was a very naked, very aroused Vic Mansfield, his eyes the exact same shade of brilliant green as the cat's, with a slight silver shimmer. He smiled a lazy smile at Mac and drew closer and closer, until their lips... 

"Well?" 

Mac jumped and opened his eyes. Vic was standing leaning against the wall, damp and with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Mac's body reacted predictably to the sight of all that lean, beautiful, naked male flesh. 

"Well, what?" he asked stupidly, not able to figure out the question, all of his blood having deserted his brain. 

Vic shifted nervously. "Do you like it?" 

"Huh? Oh!" He looked down at the pendant in his hand. Strange. For a moment, it had felt like something had happened, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what. "I think it's great," he said honestly and Vic relaxed. 

And it _was_ great, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't his usual sort of jewelry, but there was something about it that drew him. He picked it up again and carefully draped it around his neck. It fell into place like it was meant to be there. 

"Perfect," he whispered to himself. 

Then he shook his head, forcing his thoughts back to more practical matters. "The Director wants to head over early, right after sunset," he told Vic, who was busily pulling clothes from the closet. 

Vic frowned. "Why?" he asked. After all, it was a good hour earlier than they'd gone over the last few nights. 

Mac shrugged. "She wants to talk to the host of these meetings about the attack last night. After all, Cash is one of his people, and we're supposed to be protected by the Truce." 

Vic nodded slowly. "Okay, that makes sense. Well, you better get moving then. Sunset is less than a half-hour away." 

Mac blinked in confusion. It _had_ been nearly an hour away when he'd come in. A glance at the clock confirmed that he had somehow managed to lose a half-hour somewhere. 

Weird, he thought, heading for the bathroom. 

* * *

A quick shave and change of clothing later, Mac made it downstairs just as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He'd moved fast, but had still taken care with his appearance. After all, it wouldn't do to make a bad impression on the Prince of the city, since keeping with the Hong Kong model in his mind, it would reflect badly on the Director. He'd gone with his favorite look, though; a black linen suit and a smooth-front white shirt, high-necked and collarless. Against it, the silver pendant and black leather thong looked classy. He hadn't even considered not wearing it. 

The Director looked him up and down, straightened his lapels and tweaked the pendant before stepping back and nodding in satisfaction. 

"Mac, are you all right?" LiAnn gasped. Mac touched his jaw, still feeling the low-level ache from the bruising. He'd forgotten that he hadn't seen LiAnn since leaving the Haven with Cash the night before, so she didn't know about the attack. 

"It looks worse than it feels," he assured her, secretly pleased at the unexpected show of concern. 

"It is also why we are heading over early, so let's go, children," the Director added, gesturing towards the waiting limo. 

The drive seemed endless, but was over faster than Mac would have liked. Before he was really ready for the upcoming confrontation, they were pulling to a stop in front of the club. 

"Come with me, Mac," the Director said, heading towards the stairs that led up to the club's offices, Mac assumed. He could see the large windows of a room overlooking the dance floor. He looked back longingly as Vic and LiAnn headed through the mostly empty room to claim their usual table. In the corner, the band was tuning up. 

Then he sighed and obediently followed his employer up the stairs. 

There was a small crowd waiting for them. Cash and Lillie, he already knew, and he threw a relieved smile Cash's way. He was glad to see the man there to back him up. The rest of the group was unfamiliar, though. 

The handsome man sitting behind the modern desk was presumably Luna. He wore an aura of power like a cloak. The stylish suit he was wearing spoke of a _lot_ of money. Lillie was elegantly draped over the back of his chair, and she smiled brightly at him, although her eyes flashed when they flickered to the bruised side of his face. 

The second man was just as handsome as Luna, but less appealing. They looked about the same age, but this man _felt_ younger. His clothes were more trendy, and he felt... slimy to Mac. He was pacing in front of the windows, pausing only long enough to glare at Mac, who resisted the urge to take a step back. 

Then he got a good look at the last person in the room and _did_ take a step back. The man was completely hairless and pale like a corpse. His ears rose to sharp points, nearly higher than the top of his head. Mac flinched from meeting his eyes, not sure that he wanted to know what he might find there. Dressed all in black, he resembled the vampires of the old silent films, back before they were glamorized by Hollywood. 

The Director moved forward to stand in front of the desk, drawing up to her full height. Despite the fact that she was probably the shortest person in the room, she had a presence that made her seem at least a foot taller. 

"I have come to file a grievance," she said quietly, although her voice filled the room. "There has been a breach of Truce and an attempt on the life of one of my retainers." Reacting to a cue he hadn't even noticed, Mac moved to stand one step behind and to the side of her. Luna glanced at him, pinning him in place with his intense expression. 

"Cash has made his statement," he said seriously. "I would like you to tell us what happened now." 

Mac took a deep breath before beginning. Deciding that they didn't need _too_ much personal detail, he started with their decision to leave the club and continued until the moment they left the parking lot after the attack. Luna broke in from time to time to ask questions, drawing out details Mac hadn't even realized he'd noticed. 

Finally he finished and there was silence for a minute. 

"Thank you, Mr. Ramsey," Luna said, then turned to the pacing man. "Cameron, I want Marcus and his friends brought to me before morning." 

Cameron stopped pacing and turned around. "You can't be taking this... this _slander_ seriously!" 

That bought him glares from almost everyone in the room. "You've heard the statements from both Cash and Mr. Ramsey and they agree in every detail," Luna pointed out. 

"Of course they do," the man said with a sneer. "They came up with this fairytale together." 

Cash growled, low in his throat, and moved towards Cameron. Luna restrained him with a simple gesture. "And why would they do that?" he asked mildly. 

"Cash wants to undermine my position," Cameron said. "And you're buying it just because he's a good fuck." 

Lillie grimaced at the crudity, but Luna remained expressionless, other than a narrowing of his eyes. "And Ramsey's reason for going along with this?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "He's never met you before tonight." 

Seeming to not notice the warning in his boss's voice, Cameron waved dismissively in Mac's direction. "For the same reason: Cash is a good fuck." 

This time it was Mac who growled angrily, while Cash muttered "Like you'll ever find out first-hand," under his breath. 

But it was the Director who responded directly. She moved to stand toe to toe with the man and glared up at him. "Be very careful about accusing my people of lying," she hissed at him. "Push me and you won't like the response." 

At least the man had the sense to back down. The Director in a cold rage was enough to make the bravest—or most foolish—of men want to wet his pants. Instead of responding, he looked to Luna. 

"Bring them in," The Prince said firmly. "They will have the chance to make their case before the council." 

Cameron's jaw clenched, but he finally nodded and headed for the exit. Luna turned his attention back to the Director. "This will be dealt with," he assured her. "I swear." 

She nodded regally. "Then I will leave it in your hands," she told him. "But if the Brujah had succeeded in killing Mac, I would not be so... polite." 

"If they had succeeded, they would be yours to do with as you liked and the Brujah of this city would be looking for a new Primogen." 

With that finished, the atmosphere in the room lightened quite a bit. Luna emerged from behind the desk, suddenly becoming less intimidating, although no less charismatic. He brushed a hand down Cash's arm possessively, then moved over to where Mac was standing. 

"Amazing," he said, reaching up to brush fingers over his jaw. Mac shivered lightly at the touch. "They told me, but I didn't really believe it." 

Mac swallowed, his mouth gone desert-dry. Was this intense sexuality something all Princes had in common? His body was responding as helplessly to Luna as it did to the Director's teasing. "I'm not Zane," he said in a remarkably steady voice considering the circumstances. 

Luna grinned. "Obviously not," he said, then thankfully stepped back. "But the resemblance is startling." He looked Mac up and down speculatively. 

A discrete cough brought the appraisal to an abrupt end. "Back off, Julian," the Director said, amusement plain in her voice. "He's mine." 

While Mac bristled at the possessive tone, he was still relieved when Luna moved away. Once there was some distance between them, he was able to collect his thoughts 

"However," Luna said, leaning back against the desk, his expression serious again. "There is still the matter of the breaking of Masquerade." 

Mac glanced at Cash who had gone tense at the words. He remembered what he'd been told the night before about the secrecy that was paramount to the Kindred for protection from a fearful human population and gulped. He hadn't meant to get Cash in trouble. "If anyone broke it, it was Marcus's goon," he broke in. "I pushed Cash to answer my questions, but that wouldn't have been necessary if it weren't for the goon sprouting fangs and glowing silver eyes. Cash tried to put me off, but I wouldn't leave without an explanation. He did try." 

Luna glanced at the Director who smiled. "I brought him with me to see if he would figure it out. While this was not exactly what I planned, I have no complaint." 

Luna nodded, and both Mac and Cash relaxed. "Accepted. I will let you know when Marcus and his cohorts have been delivered. In the meantime, I need to prepare for the meetings. I will see you later." 

He headed through a door at the back of the room and disappeared from sight. Mac breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank into a nearby chair. He tensed slightly when the hairless man moved towards him, accompanied by a faint stench that made him think of sewers, but he just patted Mac on the shoulder and said, "You did well," before following Luna. 

Mac stared after him and Cash laughed. "High praise indeed from a Nosferatu," he said, then left as well. 

Lillie moved to take the seat behind the desk. The Director headed for the door they'd come in through and Mac got to his feet to follow her. 

"Mac," Lillie said, then waited until he turned to face her. "I'll see you later," she promised with a seductive smile. 

Mac grinned. "I'll look forward to it." 

* * *

September 1999   
I don't own the characters or the world. They are owned respectively by Alliance, Aaron Spelling and White Wolf Games. However, the story is my own invention.  
My other fanfic, including Always a Thief stories, can be found at: <http://www.squidge.org/~lianne>  
The Once a Thief slash story archive, Wild OaTs can also be found at: [http://www.techplus.com/slashvillage/oat](http://www.techplus.com/slashvillage/oat/)  
For more great Once a Thief stories, check out the Red and the Black archives at [http://www.squidge.org../oat.htm](http://www.squidge.org/ratb/agency/)  
All Around You, a Kindred: The Embraced slash list information and archive can be found at: [http://internetdump.com/users/ravens_lament](http://internetdump.com/users/ravens_lament/)   
The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage.   
Feedback can be sent to [email removed]   
---


	2. Book I: San Francisco Meetings 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.

**San Francisco Meetings  
by Lianne Burwell  
**

Carpe Noctem Book Two 

  
**Chapter Eight**

The club was nearly full by the time Mac and the Director came back down the stairs from their meeting with the guy who was supposed to deal with the attack on Mac the night before. Vic wasn't sure how the man was supposed to do that, but he supposed it wasn't his problem. 

Then again, an attack on one of his partners _was_ his problem. 

Mac looked a little shaky on his feet and Vic wondered if the Director had been playing her little games again. He'd seen Mac face down certain death without flinching, making jokes, then run scared when the Director went into predator mode. Not that he really blamed him; The Director didn't aim those attentions his way very often, but when she did, Vic ended up shaking in his boots. 

"Julian will deal with the matter," she said, sinking into one of the seats at the small table. Mac more collapsed into his. Vic examined the dark circles under his eyes and wondered if the man should even be out of bed. Considering the size and color of the bruise, he'd taking one hell of a shot. 

More drinks were delivered; a soda for Mac, since he didn't look like he could hold any liquor, and a deep red wine for the Director. Meanwhile, the band had started to play something low and soothing. LiAnn could probably tell him the title and composer, along with a brief history of the piece, but Vic didn't care: It sounded nice and that was enough for him. 

"So," he finally said when no one else seemed interested in starting a conversation and the silence got a little stilted. "How much longer are these meetings going on, and what are they about anyway?" 

"Haven't I said?" the Director said in mock surprise. "How thoughtless of me." Both Mac and LiAnn had leaned forward at the question, obviously curious, Vic noticed. "Well, after tonight there are two more nights of meetings, with a party the following night. We fly home, four nights from now. As for the purpose." She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. "Call it a discussion of inter-agency cooperation," she finally said. 

Vic frowned. "What sort of agencies?" he asked suspiciously. 

The Director leaned over and patted his cheek fondly. "So curious. How sweet. However, you needn't worry yourself over that, Victor. It doesn't affect you right now." 

Vic wanted to protest that assumption, but before he could, she stood and headed for the meeting rooms in back, taking her wineglass with her. 

"Anyone else have a clue what she meant by inter-agency cooperation?" Vic asked, glancing at his partners. 

LiAnn shrugged, already losing interest in the conversation. Mac shrugged too, but his gaze slid to the side; something it did when he was hiding something. "Mac?" 

Mac shrugged again, but wouldn't meet his eyes. He knew something, but Vic decided that it wasn't exactly the time or place to pry it out of him. He did make a note of it for later, however. 

"So," he said, changing the subject. "What is this Julian person like?" 

Mac shuddered theatrically. "Picture a male version of the Director," he said conspiratorially to Vic, who shuddered as well. LiAnn's lips twitched at the display and Vic exchanged satisfied glances with Mac at that. Yep, the ice-queen façade was definitely starting to erode. 

"Did he sit on your lap?" Vic teased and Mac actually blushed. 

"Nope, but he seemed to be considering it before the Director told him to back off. Actually, if you met him you'd probably think he was a Mafia Don or something. Handsome, cultured, well-dressed and somehow scary as hell." 

That worried Vic. "Maybe he _is_ Mafia," he suggested, but Mac was already shaking his head. 

"No, he isn't," was all he would say. 

Vic was getting more and more suspicious now. Mac obviously knew something he wasn't telling and that bothered Vic. He and his partner were definitely going to have a little talk when they got back to the hotel. 

Until then, though, he was going to keep his eyes open. Something weird was going on, and he wanted to know what. 

* * *

As the night went on, Vic made a mental list of everything that struck him as odd, drawing on his training as a detective. He wasn't sure what most of them meant, or even if they meant anything, but he had no way of knowing what was significant yet. He wished he could pull out a notebook and jot down some notes, but that would have attracted attention he didn't want. 

The first item on his list seemed fairly innocuous. Considering the mix of people in the club, you would expect to see a wide variety of drinks, tending towards either beer or hard liquor, but the overwhelming favorite drink was the same red wine that the Director had been drinking earlier, somehow darker and slightly thicker in consistency than he was familiar with. Perhaps it was a local specialty or something, but it _was_ strange. 

Second was the pattern of interactions between groups. As he'd noticed on previous evenings, each group stayed mostly to themselves. However, there _was_ interaction, if only a look or a nod. Some of those seemed reasonably friendly, while others looked to be verging on violence. There was some sort of pattern to it—Vic was sure of it—but it eluded him, kind of like the on-the-tip-of-my-tongue phenomenon. 

Jackie always said that his surveillance skills were pitiful, and he was noticed in his watching. It got him a few angry glares and one rather disturbing snarl, all accompanied by a weird flash of silver in the eyes. A few looked so hostile that he'd quickly looked in another direction. Vic wasn't a coward, but he knew danger when he saw it and Victor Mansfield was _not_ a fool. As for the silver, he just assumed that it was something to do with the lighting in the club. 

"My, don't we look suspicious tonight," a husky voice purred in his ear. Vic twisted in his seat to look up at an obviously amused Lillie. 

"What?" 

"You have the look of a cop in a suspected drug house," she said with a smile. "You really should work on your poker face." 

Vic snorted. "My poker face is fine. It just doesn't translate well," he said. In his mind he could hear Jackie telling him 'You look like the hotel dick.' The kindest comment he'd received was that his face was too honest for surveillance. "I was just curious," he told her. "I hope I didn't offend." 

For a moment, his eyes flickered over to the bar where Mac was chatting with Cash. The Director had promised that Mac's attackers were going to be dealt with, but until then he was keeping a close eye on his partner. 

"Of course not," she said, sitting down. "I even know a few cops." 

"I'm not a cop." 

LiAnn frowned and excused herself. For some reason she seemed to have taken a dislike to the elegant club-owner. But then she always seemed to take a dislike to any woman who showed an interest in either of her partners—other than the Director, of course—even though she'd made it clear that she didn't want either of them. 

Lillie cocked her head to the side, watching LiAnn walk away, an amused smile on her lips, before turning back to Vic. "Maybe not now, but you used to be," she said confidently. Vic didn't bother denying the comment: He'd also been told that he was a lousy liar. "So tell me about yourself. What do you do when you're not being suspicious?" 

A glass of the same red wine he'd noticed earlier was set down next to her and when she sipped, it left a sheen on her lips that disturbingly made him think of blood. He shook off the fancy before answering. 

"I listen to music, mostly old-style blues. I cook, although not very well yet." Vic grinned, remembering the time the fire department had shown up while he was trying to make blackened catfish; the resulting smoke had set off the smoke-detectors in the corridor. The result had been so over-spiced that it had been inedible. His second attempt hadn't been half-bad, though, so he _was_ improving with practice. 

"How domestic. And do you cook for Mac as well?" 

Vic drew his gaze back to Lillie after it had wandered over to his partner again. Mac was laughing at something the bartender had just said. "What?" 

"Do you cook for the delightful young man that you are watching so intently?" The smile on her face said that she was teasing him. 

Vic shook his head. "Mac likes 'authentic' Chinese food, so he seems to live on take-out." 

"How long have you been together?" There was no mistaking the meaning of her question. 

"We aren't lovers," Vic told her. "We've been working together for a little over two years, though." 

"Really? The way you've been watching him, I would have thought... On the other hand, he _did_ spend the night with Cash," she said thoughtfully to himself. 

"I've been keeping an eye on his because he attracts trouble like honey attracts flies. After last night, I think I have reason to worry." 

"You don't seem to worry about the young lady." 

"LiAnn is very good at avoiding trouble," he said defensively. 

"And are you and she..." Lillie trailed off suggestively. 

The slight flash of pain was barely noticeable, unlike the months after she'd called off their engagement. "Not for more than a year. And before that, she was with Mac," he said, wondering why he was telling all of this to someone who was almost a complete stranger. There was just something about the woman that seemed to compel him to tell her everything she wanted to know. 

"I see." There was a wealth of innuendo in the comment. "Well then," she finally said, her expression turning seductive. "If you aren't involved with either of them, perhaps you'll reconsider my offer?" She raised a single arched eyebrow. 

"Um..." Vic shifted in his seat uneasily. 

"Or don't you find me attractive?" 

"No! I mean you are very attractive. It's just..." 

"All I'm suggesting is one night," she said. "After all, you're just here for the week." 

"That's the problem," Vic said, seizing on the comment. "I don't..." 

"Do casual sex?" she finished for him, smiling again. "How old- fashioned. Very well, I won't press. Actually, it's rather sweet." 

Vic winced. He was reasonably sure that the comment wasn't _meant_ to be patronizing, but Lillie struck him as the sort of person for whom casual sex was almost a way of life. 

"Having fun?" 

Vic looked up as Mac and Cash moved to join them. "Maybe not as much as you," he said and was surprised to hear a tiny bit of bitterness in his voice. Cash's eyebrows went up and he smiled, like he was seeing something no one else was. Mac just laughed. 

"Well, well, well. Aren't we all the happy family," the Director said, seeming to appear almost out of thin air, LiAnn right behind her. The meetings must be over for the night, and Vic was a little surprised to notice that it was only an hour to sunrise. 

The Director turned to Cash. "Marcus?" she asked in a hard voice. 

Cash's smile disappeared. "Cameron seems to be having... trouble locating him. Until he does, I am Mac's personal bodyguard. Julian's orders." 

She frowned. "If he continues to have... 'trouble,'" she said, imitating Cash's phrasing, " _I_ will have a little talk with him. Tell him for me; he really doesn't want that. Understood?" 

Vic was impressed; Cash didn't even break a sweat. "Understood." 

"Good." 

As usual, the limo was waiting for them; one of the many that the meeting attendees and their people were climbing into. Vic wondered where everyone else was staying; their group was the only one at the Garden House. Considering how isolationist the different groups were, he wouldn't be surprised if every delegation was housed at a different hotel or B&B around town. 

He was also a little surprised that there were no cops around. The conversation earlier with Mac had reminded him just how suspicious these meetings would look to a cop. And if they _were_ completely legit, wouldn't a cop want to make sure that there wasn't any trouble? On the other hand, Lillie's comment about 'knowing' cops might explain that. Either that or a lot of money applied in the right places. 

Cash's bike was parked right next to the main door, so he had his helmet on and the engine revved up by the time they were ready to drive off. As they did, he fell in behind to follow them, watching for trouble. 

Vic couldn't help noticing that the Director looked seriously pissed off. The atmosphere in the limo was tense all the way back to the Garden House. Once there, the Director gestured Cash over. "Tell Luna he's got a deadline of tomorrow, this time. Find Marcus and his friends or I will. 

Cash nodded coolly. "I'll tell him." 

"Good." With that, she turned and headed up the steps, her heels clicking on the marble. 

Mac winced, then wrapped his arms around Cash. "See you tomorrow," he said, then gently kissed the man. 

"Watch your back, gorgeous," Cash replied. He sat on the bike and watched as Mac and LiAnn headed inside, then turned his attention to Vic, who was waiting patiently. "You have something to say?" he asked. 

Vic stepped in close, putting on his most threatening expression. "I hope you're a better bodyguard than tour guide," he told the man. "Because if anything happens to Mac, I'm coming after you." 

"Is that a threat?" 

"No. It's a promise. Letting Mac go anywhere with you was obviously a mistake. It's not going to happen again." 

Cash grinned. "Mac's a big boy, you know. He can chose his own friends." 

Vic snorted. "He also has a record of getting involved with terrorists, thieves and killers," he said, carefully ignoring the fact that that also described most of _his_ romantic attempts since the breakup with LiAnn. "He's a little too trusting for his own good." 

Cash's 'I know something you don't know' smile was back in full force. "You know, Mansfield, you almost sound jealous. Don't like anyone else hanging around your boy?" Vic didn't rise to the bait. 

"Just remember what I said," he said, then turned and headed inside. LiAnn and the Director had already headed upstairs, but Mac was waiting for him. 

"What the hell was _that_ all about?" he demanded, grabbing Vic's arm. 

"Just clearing up a few points." 

"Oh great. Just... great. What's next, background checks on all of my dates? You want to threaten them _before_ I go out with them? Or maybe I should save myself the trouble and just join a monastery now." 

Mac was furious, and deep down, Vic knew he had every right in the world to be. He was acting like an over-protective brother, or worse, a jealous... something. "Mac, what's going on here?" 

"You're acting like an ass," was the prompt reply. 

" _Other_ than that," Vic said tiredly. "And don't play innocent. You know something you aren't telling, and it could put us all in danger. We're partners, damnit. _Talk_ to me." 

Mac glanced around, then pulled Vic into the empty dining room. It was still before dawn, and while they could hear sounds of life from the kitchen, all the chairs were still up on the tables and the room wasn't open for service. 

"Listen, I _can't_ tell you." Vic started to protest, but Mac hushed him. "First of all, the Director says she wants you to figure it out on your own. Second, even if I _did_ tell you, you wouldn't believe me. It's..." He paused, looking for words that apparently weren't coming. Then he sighed. "It's got to do with the Director: Who and _what_ she is. If you want to know more right now, you'll have to talk to _her_." 

Vic wasn't sure he wanted to press anymore—the Director didn't like people prying into her business, even when it was theirs too— and even if he did want to, Mac's expression would have stopped him. The younger man looked worried and more than a little afraid. Vic decided to take pity on him. 

"All right, I'll let it go. For now," he warned. Mac smiled gratefully and relaxed. "But we stay here today," he warned. "No sight-seeing, no shopping, no nothing. You don't give this Marcus person a free shot at you, got it?" 

"Got it," Mac said, rolling his eyes. "But it's not like he's going to be coming after me during daylight." 

"You can't be sure about that." Mac opened his mouth, then shut it again. Vic frowned; Mac had seemed pretty sure. "Mac?" 

"Ask me again when we get home," was the only answer he got. 

The arrival of staff wanting to set up for breakfast interrupted the rather surreal conversation they were having and they headed for their room and bed. 

Once in bed, though, Vic had trouble getting to sleep. His mind kept turning over the puzzle of Mac's comments and his own observations. He must have been more tired than he thought. Either that or he'd seen too many late-night horror movies, since only one explanation was coming to mind. 

And while he'd called the Director a lot of things in the years since she'd blackmailed him into working for the Agency—although rarely to her face—calling her a vampire was too ridiculous for word. 

* * *

They didn't wake up until lunchtime. The bruise on Mac's face was already fading to a mottled brown and when they ate lunch, he didn't look like it hurt to chew anymore. The meal was surprising quiet— Mac rarely did _anything_ quietly—and Vic was distracted by his self-imposed job of watching for anything suspicious. He saw nothing and Mac seemed completely unconcerned. 

Vic still wished he had a gun. Unarmed, he felt naked. 

After lunch they found a TV room—that being the one necessity missing from their room—and settled down for the afternoon. They flipped back and forth between a Vancouver-LA hockey game and a martial arts flick. Vic hooted at the stupid moves the hockey players made, all the while complaining that _he_ could do better, and Mac heckled the lousy sub-titles on the Hong Kong-made movie, suggesting that they'd been written by someone with a Chinese- English dictionary who didn't understand either language. All in all, it was a fun day. 

The only problem was that the Director seemed to be deliberately avoiding him. Mac had told him to talk to her if he wanted answers, but she never emerged from her suite and no one answered the door when he'd knocked. Even LiAnn didn't seem to know where the woman was, and of them all, the Director-proclaimed 'teacher's pet' was the closest to her. 

All in all, Vic was starting to count the hours until they headed home. San Francisco was turning out to be just a little too weird for his tastes. 

The Director finally made her appearance just in time to leave for the Haven. In that entire time, Mac hadn't been out of his sight once, except for when one of them was in the bathroom. At those times, Vic was either right outside the door, or when he had showered he had trusted Mac to keep his word and not run off. 

Through it all, Mac just seemed amused. 

But that changed as the sun went down. Vic would have had to be blind to miss how Mac got more and more apprehensive the darker it got outside. For a moment he reconsidered the exhaustion-induced vampire theory, then decided to just chalk it up to worry about what was going to happen at the Haven. 

Cash arrived a half-hour after sunset along with the limo. He was looking very tense, and the bulges under his leather jacket said that he, at least, was well armed. When the Director shot him a glance, asking the obvious question silently, he shook his head. 

Marcus and his cronies were still on the loose out there. 

When they arrived at the Haven, they found that Cash wasn't the only one who was tense. There were more than a half-dozen faces that Vic didn't recognize and they all had the hard and wary look of soldiers. It reassured him for a moment, but only a moment. Then he got a look at Cash's unhappy expression and Lillie's coldly angry one. 

"Brujah?" he heard Mac ask quietly and Cash confirmed it, just as quietly. The word didn't mean anything to Vic, except in reference to some sort of male witch, which didn't exactly fit the circumstances. 

Vic gestured them into an alcove near the door where coats were hung. "What the hell is a Brujah?" he asked them, suddenly tired of all the secrets. 

Cash glanced at Mac, then checked the area outside the alcove for listeners before answering. "A family. A... gang, I guess you could call them," he finally said, although Vic had the feeling that there was more to it than that. "Marcus is Brujah. Julian ordered their leader to bring him in, but either they haven't found them yet or they're hiding him." The glare he shot at the room in general and the Brujah specifically told Vic which option _Cash_ thought more likely. 

Suddenly Vic had a headache: They were about to spend the evening in a club surrounded by the armed friends of the men who had tried to kill Mac, and other than Cash, they were unarmed. The hairs on his neck were all standing on end and Vic felt like he had target painted on his back. 

For once, the Director escorted them to their table, then turned to survey the room. "If this isn't resolved tonight, the three of you will be on a plane to Toronto tomorrow morning even if I have to charter one," she said in a tone that didn't allow for protests. Not that Vic was inclined to protest; at the moment, heading for home sounded like a good idea to _him_. 

Then she left for what she'd told them was the second-last night of her mysterious meetings. Vic wondered if they would _ever_ find out what those were about. He doubted it, though. If she didn't think they needed to know, she wasn't going to say. 

After that, the evening settled down into a stomach-roiling tension that left Vic wanting to order a bottle of antacid instead of beer. They'd taken their usual table, up against the wall, and Mac was sitting closest to the wall with Cash between him and the rest of the room in the seat that Vic would have taken if the local hadn't got to it first. Vic settled for taking the seat directly opposite Cash with LiAnn next to the wall. The smile on Cash's face said that he hadn't missed that. 

It was going to be a looooong night. 

* * *

Despite—or perhaps due to—the high level of tension, the evening passed quietly. None of them danced, and they all stuck to non-alcoholic drinks. Lillie dropped by a couple times to keep them up-to-date on the search. 

The first sign of relief came just after midnight when Lillie let them know that Cameron—who was apparently the head of these 'Brujah'—had just delivered three of the four men being hunted for. They were Luna's estate, waiting under guard for their chance to explain themselves. However, that bit of good new was tempered by the fact that one of the men was still on the loose, and that was the ringleader, Marcus. 

Still, Vic started to relax. While Marcus still being free meant that Mac—and Cash, he supposed—could still be in danger, at least they now knew that there _was_ an honest effort being made to find him. 

Vic finally managed to loosen up enough to start chatting with Cash. The man turned out to be a reasonably okay guy. They might even have been friends if it weren't for the feeling that they were rivals for Mac, even though Vic had no claim on him except as a partner. 

Maybe he was just as bad as LiAnn; not wanting to take a chance on the man as a romantic partner, but unwilling to let him find someone else. It was a disturbing thought. 

But that thought brought something else to his attention. 

"LiAnn." 

Mac looked over from his conversation with Cash. "She went to the ladies room." 

"I know that," Vic said, exasperated. He checked his watch. "But she _never_ takes half an hour, especially considering the circumstances." 

That got Mac's attention. He'd known LiAnn much longer that Vic, so he recognized the truth in the statement. Immediately, he started to his feet. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cash snapped, grabbing his arm. Mac jerked it out of the man's grasp. 

"I'm going after my partner," he said and pushed past Cash, heading for the back corridor where the restrooms were. Cursing, Vic hurried after him, Cash right on his heels. 

Ignoring the shocked looks he got, Mac pushed open the door to the ladies room. "LiAnn!" 

There was no answer. 

Vic turned to Cash. "Is there any other way out of here?" 

Cash nodded to a door at the end of the corridor. "That leads out back, but it's wired. Opening it sets off the fire alarm. 

"Well, let's find out," Mac snapped, and pushed the door open so hard that it actually banged against the outside wall. 

There was no alarm. 

"Shit," Cash hissed, scanning the narrow alleyway between the Haven and the building behind it. There were two dumpsters, but other than that was surprisingly tidy. There was no sign of life. 

"LiAnn!" Mac shouted, despite Vic's gestures to stay quiet. 

"Right over here," a masculine voice said. 

The dark haired man who stepped out from behind the dumpsters was dressed in clothes that had been elegant, but now were grubby and wrinkled. Marcus—assuming this was him—obviously hadn't been sleeping comfortably the last two nights. But that didn't detract from his menace, especially since he had a barely-conscious LiAnn by the throat and a gun pointed at them. 

"Took you long enough," he said with a sneer. "I was about to just kill her and leave." 

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, taking a step forward. "You're just digging yourself in deeper. This isn't going to change anything." 

"No, I suppose it won't," Marcus said, slowly lowering his gun. Vic decided that maybe he should start breathing again. 

Then the man smiled, a cold, cruel smile. "But at least I won't go alone," he said, swinging the gun to point at Mac. 

"No!" Vic shouted, already moving. 

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"He's watching you again." 

Mac glanced over at Cash after giving the bartender his order. He knew Vic was watching; it was the same thing he'd be doing if their roles were reversed. "He's watching my back." 

"That's my job tonight," the man said with a grin. 

Having Cash watching his back was a weird experience for Mac. It had been years since he'd had to trust anyone there other than LiAnn or Vic—and Vic more often than not, it seemed. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cash—he did, which was weird in itself since they'd only met a few days earlier. The problem was that he didn't _know_ the man or how he would react in a situation. Sure, he'd seen Cash in a fight and knew he could handle himself, but there wasn't the instinctive knowledge of which way he was going to move that he had with his partners. 

"Relax, gorgeous. It'll be all over soon." 

"You know," Mac said with a wry grin, "that could be interpreted in ways that aren't exactly reassuring." The bartender placed a glass of ginger-ale in front of him. He really wanted a beer, but that wouldn't be a good idea. 

Cash snorted and scanned the room before turning back to him. "That's new," he commented, reaching over to touch the pendant resting against Mac's chest. 

"Hmm? Oh, that." Strangely, he'd forgotten about the pendant until Cash pointed it out. It felt so natural around his neck; like it had always been there. "Vic picked it up for me the other day." 

Cash grinned. "You two are close, aren't you?" 

"Well sure. We've been working together for two years now. Of course, when we first met we mixed like oil and water, but we became friends after LiAnn dumped him. Maybe we should call ourselves the Society of LiAnn's Ex-Lovers." 

" _Just_ friends?" 

Mac flushed at the smirk on the other man's face. The question brought to mind some of those fantasies he'd been having about Vic Mansfield for months. Fantasies that had seemed completely impossible until this trip, when he'd found out that Vic had also had male lovers in the past. Now they were merely improbably. "Just friends." 

"Hmm." 

"What?" 

"Not the answer I was expecting. The way he's been acting; watching you, warning me off like a jealous lover... And then there's the way you look at him." 

Mac bristled. "Vic's an overprotective worrywart, that's all." 

"One who buys you jewelry?" 

"Why not? I bought him a shirt and an earring the day before that." 

"Really?" 

Mac was starting to get a little annoyed at the innuendo. "Listen, Cash. We are _not_ lovers. We're just partners. That's _all_ we are." And all we'll ever be, he thought a little sadly. 

And he knew why, too. After Michael, LiAnn and Claire, Mac didn't want to take a chance on anything too serious, which was why he went through such a steady string of dates. Vic, on the other hand, was _not_ the type for casual sex, Moorcock to the contrary. But if he ever got the chance at a night, no strings attached, Mac certainly wouldn't turn it down. 

Not waiting for Cash's response, Mac picked up his drink and headed back to the table where Vic and LiAnn were waiting, praying that Cash wouldn't press the subject, although he figured he didn't have much hope of that. He could feel Cash's amusement as the man followed him. 

It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

It ended up being just as long as he'd feared. Vic finally loosened up enough to chat with Cash, even getting a little friendly with the man. That made Mac more than a bit uncomfortable, especially since Cash's side of the conversation was laced with subtle innuendo that went right over Vic's head, although not LiAnn's, going by the slight smirk on her face. 

Mac had made fun of Vic in the past for being unsophisticated, but tonight he was glad for it. If Vic had any idea of the undercurrents in the conversation, Mac would be glowing red as if he were sun- burnt. Besides, after the high-class world he'd grown up in Hong Kong, Vic's uncomplicated personality was a breath of fresh air. You didn't have to dig through layers of false faces to find the real man. Everything was out in the open. 

Not that he was _stupid_ , of course. When it came to work, Vic was a damn good investigator. Better than Mac, in fact. Mac knew he had a tendency to be too easily distracted, especially by a pretty face or great ass. Vic had only made that mistake once that Mac could remember, and he'd made up for it in the end. 

That focus on the job was why Vic was the first one to notice that LiAnn was missing. After the report that Marcus's goons had been captured, Mac had started to relax. He assumed that even though Marcus was still on the lam, everything was as good as over. Vic's comment brought that assumption to a crashing end. 

Marcus had LiAnn. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was true. Cursing himself for a fool, Mac double-checked the ladies room, then headed for the door to the back alley. Cash seemed confident in the security system, but Mac knew from personal experience just how easy a fire alarm was to disable. 

Vic tried to keep him quiet, but Mac was past caring about stealth. He just wanted it to be over. "LiAnn!" 

"Right over here," said the voice he was dreading. 

Marcus stepped out from behind one of the dumpsters with an unresisting LiAnn by the throat, effortlessly supporting her weight. The bruise on her temple explained why she looked so dazed. 

Marcus no longer looked like he'd stepped off the pages of GQ. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on the last time Mac had seen him. They were badly rumpled now and his hair hung lank. But his eyes glittered with a manic silver light and Mac could see a hint of fangs when his lips drew back in a sneer. For a more mundane threat, he had a gun pointed at them. 

"Took you long enough," the Brujah said. "I was about to just kill her and leave." His lips drifted towards her throat and Mac's breath caught. 

"Don't be a fool, Marcus," Cash said, trying to move past Mac to shield him. Mac wasn't interested in cooperating. It was his fault that LiAnn was in this mess. "You're just digging yourself in deeper. This isn't going to change anything." 

The gun wavered, then lowered. "No, I suppose it won't." Mac tensed. It wasn't going to be that easy. It never was. 

Then suddenly the gun was pointed straight at him. Over the roar of his pulse, he heard Marcus say, "But at least I won't go alone." 

His finger tightened on the trigger, oh so slowly. It was like the entire world slowed down as Mac waited for the bullet that was going to end his life. 

Mac froze, but neither Cash nor Vic did. Cash threw himself at Marcus, while a shouting Vic jumped in front of Mac. 

The echo of the gunshot was obscenely loud in the narrow space. 

Dimly, Mac heard snarling and the sound of flesh tearing as Cash literally ripped Marcus to shreds. LiAnn hit her head again on the edge of the dumpster as she fell away from Marcus and lay unconscious on the ground. 

But Mac noticed all that only peripherally. His attention was focused on Vic. His partner collapsed to the ground, a gut wound pouring out blood. You didn't need to be a doctor to know that even a hospital probably couldn't save him at that moment. 

"Mac..." Vic's eyes drifted shut. His face was a pasty white as the blood drained away, pooling beneath him on the ground. 

"Vic? Vic!" Mac moved to his side, pressing a hand to the wound to try and slow the bleeding, even though he knew it was pointless. Vic's breathing already sounded with a death rattle. 

"Mac?" 

Mac looked up at Cash's worried face and hope flared as he saw the man's fangs, fully extended. He reached up with a bloody hand to grab the man's sleeve. "Help him," he begged. 

"I... can't." 

"You're the only one who can," Mac pressed desperately. 

Cash wavered. "The rules say Julian has to okay..." He cut off, recognizing the truth: Vic wouldn't last that long. 

"Please," Mac said, begging now. He was sure that there were all sorts of logical arguments he could make for why Cash should Embrace Vic, but none of them were coming to mind. All that mattered was that he didn't want his partner to die. Especially not because of _him_. 

Cash took a deep breath, then gestured him to move out of the way. As Mac scrambled back, the Gangrel took his place, lifting Vic's head into his lap. "Vic. Vic!" 

The dying man's eyes fluttered open again. They were dim, no longer their usual brilliant green, but they were aware. 

"Vic, I can save your life, but only if you become like me. Are you willing to accept that price?" Mac wanted to yell at him to get on with it, but somehow he knew that Cash wasn't going to do anything without Vic's consent. 

Vic stared up at him, and Mac knew what he was seeing. Cash's eyes were glowing with an eerie light, his bloodied lips were drawn back to display his fangs. There was no mistaking what he was. Vic's eyes widened and what little breath he had left came in a gasp. 

For a long moment he said nothing, while Mac's heart pounded. Finally his eyes shut. "Yes," was the barely audible reply. Mac slumped against the brick wall in relief. 

Cash bent his head and Mac watched in fascination as the man's fangs sank into Vic's neck. Then Cash's lips sealed around the entry and his throat muscles went to work as he started to suck powerfully. 

For nearly a minute, that was all that happened. The blood flowing from the stomach wound slowed, then stopped. Vic's breathing paused, restarted, then stopped altogether. Mac whimpered low in his throat. 

Then Cash pulled back and raised his hand. His other hand came up, talons extended, and he cut open his wrist. As soon as the blood started to well, he pressed his wrist to Vic's lips and started talking in a low, hypnotic tone. 

"You have to drink if you really want this. If you don't, you will die the true death. It's up to you now. It's your choice and yours alone." 

Behind him, LiAnn groaned and sat up. Her eyes went wide as she took in the tableau in front of her. Mac ignored her, his eyes focused on the two men. 

Suddenly, Vic's throat flexed once, then a second time. Mac almost cried in relief as the man started to drink. Already, a flush of color was returning to his face. 

Just then, the door to the alley flew open and Lillie rushed out, followed closely by several armed men. Two of them were friends of Cash that he had met at the dance club, Mac was relieved to note. 

Not pulling his wrist from Vic's greedily sucking mouth, Cash twisted in place to look at the newcomers. "Get a car," he ordered one of his friends and the man nodded before disappearing back inside. "Marcus is over there, what's left of him," Cash told Lillie. "The body needs to be disposed of. Tell Julian and Toronto that we're going to the estate. They can meet us there." He looked down at Vic and sighed. "They can decide what will happen to us then." 

Lillie nodded sadly and went back inside, pausing only long enough to squeeze Mac's shoulder reassuringly. Now that the immediate danger to Vic was over, he was remembering what Cash had told him about Zane and the penalties for Embracing without permission. He prayed that the relationship between Julian and Cash—not to mention the circumstances—would convince the Prince to be lenient. Otherwise both Vic _and_ Cash could be dead before sunrise. 

At the end of the alley, a car door slammed. Two of Cash's Gangrels picked Vic up and carried him to the waiting car. Finally paying attention to his _other_ partner, Mac helped LiAnn to her feet and half-carried her down the alley. The car was just barely large enough to hold them all, with LiAnn half in his lap and Vic leaning against Cash, still not quite conscious, in the back seat and the two Gangrel in the front. 

Mac slumped against the back of the seat, suddenly beyond exhausted. The world had just tilted on its axis and he didn't have a clue what happened next. He was probably in shock, he knew. He'd nearly been killed and he was now sticky with Vic's blood. A quick glance over let him see the wound still showing through the gaping hole in Vic's shirt, but as he watched, the edges were starting to pull together. 

Vic moaned faintly, and Cash held his bleeding wrist for the man to suckle at again. "It's going to be all right," the Gangrel whispered, and Mac wondered who he was trying to reassure: Vic, Mac or himself. 

The car pulled into traffic and Mac closed his eyes, the lids too heavy to keep open any longer. 

* * *

Mac woke with a start as the car came to a stop in front of a large mansion. It was a beautiful building, practically screaming "money," but Mac barely glanced at it as they maneuvered Vic and LiAnn up the front steps. 

Once inside, Cash gestured for Mac and LiAnn to go into the library just off the main foyer while he and the others took Vic upstairs. Mac wanted to protest, but LiAnn still had the glazed look of someone with a concussion or worse. She needed to sit down quickly and she couldn't be left alone. Mac let the rational part of his mind take over and did as he was told. He trusted Cash to look after Vic, after all. 

Really, he did. 

About ten minutes later, he heard a car pull up outside. A moment after that, the front door opened and he heard Julian's voice. Mac closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself for what would happen next. It was 'make or break' time. 

Julian came into the study, the Director right on his heels. "I saw Marcus," he said bluntly. "Where's Cash?" 

"Upstairs with Vic." 

"What happened?" Julian seemed calm but determined. Mac looked past him to the Director, but her expression was impossible to read. He took a deep breath and started from the moment they'd discovered that LiAnn was missing. 

He left out nothing, including his own insistence on rushing out into the alley to confront Marcus—a foolish decision, he knew. The only reason he was still alive was because Vic had taken a bullet for him. Vic had nearly _died_ to save him. 

Then he explained how he had begged Cash to Embrace Vic, doing his best to take all the blame. Julian just snorted. 

"No one _makes_ Cash do anything," he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile; the most promising sign so far. Then the amused smile disappeared. "However, this was not a good decision. 

"San Francisco is in a delicate state just now. Since Eddie Fiori died, the Brujah have been pushing. They say I show blatant favoritism to the other clans. If I allow Cash to get away with increasing the Gangrel ranks without permission at the same time that the Brujah lose four..." 

"He hasn't." Everyone's attention turned to the Director. "Victor is _mine_. I did not bring him with me just to lose him to you. When we leave in three days, he leaves with us." 

Julian's eyebrows went up. "You want to put a fledgling on a plane that soon after his Embrace? No Kindred learns control _that_ fast." 

"He will," she said confidently. "He won't have any other choice. LiAnn?" 

The oriental looked up obediently, but there was still little comprehension in her eyes. In the light of the study, her pupils could be seen to be overly large and mismatched in size. The Director sighed. "She needs medical attention." 

Julian nodded. "Daedelus is well-trained in mortal medicine. He'll be here shortly." 

"Good. Take care of her. Mac, come with me." 

Mac got to his feet and followed her out into the foyer and then up the stairs. She unerringly led them to a door that led to a richly decorated bedroom. There they found Vic lying on the bed, fully awake now. Cash sat next to him, talking quietly, but quickly. 

Vic was undressed, his clothes no doubt already disposed of. They'd been too soaked with blood, even without the bullet hole, to be worth saving. Mac stared in fascination at the man's stomach. While the scars from the fatal wound could still be seen clearly, it was completely closed and those scars were already starting to fade. 

Cash got to his feet as soon as they entered. He half-bowed to the Director in a gesture of respect, then stood still, waiting for her to speak. She stared at him coldly for a moment. "Julian is waiting for you downstairs," she finally said, stepping aside so that he could leave. Taking the hint, he patted Vic's hand, then left the room, pausing only long enough to brush his lips against Mac's cheek. His breath stank of blood and Mac shivered. 

Once he was gone, she turned her attention to Vic, who had struggled up into a seated position. "Now, this is a fine mess," she said, sounding exasperated. The conversation in the study had raised Mac's spirits a bit, but now they plummeted again. 

"I mean, really, Victor," she continued. "Couldn't you have settled for knocking him to the ground? Or _letting_ him take the bullet he was so obviously inviting?" Mac winced at the glare she sent his way. He was going to pay for this; he knew it. "You really need to outgrow these foolish heroics." 

"It was the only thing I could come up with at the moment," Vic said weakly. 

The Director sighed. "Unfortunately, I believe you. However, this creates a mess that I now have to deal with. I'm sure you've already started to feel the Hunger?" He nodded. "Of course you have. Controlling the Hunger is the first thing any new fledgling must learn. Unfortunately, you don't have much time to do so. You cannot stay in San Francisco for a number of reasons, chief of which is that you belong to _me_. But you also cannot be allowed out in public until you can control yourself. Therefore, I am going to give you a little incentive to learn that control very quickly." 

She gestured Mac over and he obeyed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "Mac will be staying in here with you. He will be your only source of blood." 

"I won't..." Vic started to say, but she cut him off. 

"Don't even think about refusing to feed. Either you would die, if you could restrain yourself completely—in which case I will simply kill Mac—or you would finally lose control of your Hunger and kill him in a frenzy—in which case I will kill _you_. You will learn to feed only as much as you need to or else." 

Her tone was so cold that neither of them could doubt her determination; she would do exactly as she said. 

"You have two days until the party," she said once her words had sunk in. "You need will to be able to behave yourself in public by then. _I_ think you can do it. Don't disappoint me." 

She turned to leave and glanced at Mac. "I'll have breakfast sent up after sunrise." 

"Assuming I'm still alive to eat it?" Mac asked wryly. 

"Have faith, Mr. Ramsey! You don't really think he'd kill you after the lengths he went to keep you alive?" 

She smiled and closed the door behind herself. In the silence of the room, the sound of the key turning in the lock was almost deafening. 

Mac sighed and went to sit on the end of the bed. Immediately, Vic scooted over until he was as far from Mac as he could get without actually falling _out_ of the bed. Mac snickered. 

"What's so damn funny?" Vic snapped at him. 

"You. You're acting like a virgin on her wedding night. Relax." Mac moved closer and this time Vic held his ground. 

"Like hell. Doesn't it bother you that the Director just served you up to me like a blue plate special?" 

Mac shrugged. "Why should it? After all, it _is_ my fault you're in this mess in the first place. If someone has to pay the price, it might as well be me." 

That got Vic's attention and he moved closer. "Don't be an idiot. She was right. There were any number of things I could have done that would have left both of us without a scratch. Instead, I got myself shot. _That_ is why you're here, facing near certain death for the second time tonight." 

He looked so morose and penitent that Mac couldn't help laughing and once he started, he couldn't stop. Hysteria, the last rational bit of his brain told him helpfully. Mixed with a touch of shock, no doubt. 

Finally, he brushed the tears from his eyes and found Vic staring at him with a shocked expression on his face. "All right," he gasped. "Let's just say we're both to blame and leave it at that. It just means that we _both_ have to fix it." 

Vic shook his head. His green eyes now had a silver sheen that reminded Mac of something, but he couldn't remember what. "I don't think I can do this, Mac." 

Mac reached out and grabbed Vic's shoulder. "You don't have any choice! Cash offered you this chance—sure, because I begged him to—and you said yes. Now you learn to do this or we _both_ die." 

"Maybe if I..." 

Mac shook his head, stopping Vic before he could continue. He could guess what the man was going to suggest. "You heard her. The longer you wait, the worse this Hunger gets and the less you're able to control it. She should know." 

Vic stared at him. "This is what you wouldn't talk about last night, isn't it? The explanation too weird to be believed." 

Mac nodded. "And would you have believed me if I told you that our boss was a vampire?" 

"No, I suppose not. The idea occurred to me briefly, but I rejected it as too ridiculous to be real. And the meetings? Can you tell me about them now?" 

"Well, I don't know much," Mac said. He knew they were both just delaying the inevitable, but he was a little nervous about it too, so he didn't object. "Cash told me that the Kindred—that's what they call themselves, not vampires—are organized kinda like feudal times. All the Kindred in a city are headed by a Prince. This was a meeting between Princes to organize cooperation. Things like letting Kindred move from city to city when they attract notice and the like." 

"So the Director isn't just a vampire, she's the chief vampire for Toronto?" 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

"Why am I not surprised?" Vic muttered to himself. Then he licked his lips and swallowed convulsively. His eyes, when they met Mac's, were almost completely silver and starting to glaze over with hunger. Mac could see his fangs, fully dropped into place. "Mac..." 

Obviously, the time for talk was over. Mac shivered and shrugged out of his jacket, then reached down to unbutton his shirt cuff. "Cash said it was easiest to control the feeding through the wrist," he said in a reasonably steady tone, trying for an instructional voice. It was difficult enough. He didn't want to make it any harder on his partner. 

He was both terrified and aroused, though. Cash had a lot more experience at this, but his body could still remember how the man's Kiss had felt. He wondered if it would be the same with Vic. 

He held out his wrist to Vic. "He licked it first and it kind of deadened the skin," he said. Vic's fingers curved around his forearm, slightly cooler than normal, and he raised Mac's wrist to his lips. Hesitantly, he stuck out his tongue and lapped at the delicate skin over the big vein there. Mac's breath caught at the sensuous rasp. 

"Okay. Um. I guess you just bite. But only take a couple swallows and stop, okay? It'll probably be easier to control if we do lots of little... um... snacks, not a full feeding." He hoped. 

Vic bared his new fangs, hesitated, then sank them in. 

The initial bite was more painful than it had been with Cash, but with the first swallow, Mac's eyes rolled back in his head. Like before, the sensations went straight to his groin and he hoped that Vic could control himself, since he didn't think he'd be able to stop the man. 

But if he couldn't, at least Mac would die enjoying it. 

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Vic drifted into wakefulness not long before sunset. It was a little strange, being able to tell how low the sun was on the horizon from inside with his eyes closed, but it looked like his life was going to be strange from now on. He was a vampire. Even just thinking the words was weird. 

As he grew more aware of his surroundings, he could hear voices: The Director and Mac. Mac sounded like his normal self, he was relieved to note, so he hadn't suffered any harm the night before from Vic's feeding. 

The thought of that feeding woke the mental snarl that the Director had called 'the Hunger.' It remembered the taste of Mac's blood, sweeter than sweet, more intoxicating than the finest wine. Vic could feel his fangs pushing out; yet another strange sensation that was now part of his life. Afterlife. Whatever. 

Deciding that he'd delayed long enough, Vic opened his eyes and pushed up into a seated position. Instantly, the conversation stopped and all eyes were focused on him. He shifted uncomfortable, suddenly remembering that he was still naked. They hadn't given him any clothes before locking Mac in with him. 

"How's LiAnn?" he asked, remembering Marcus having her by the throat. She hadn't looked good. 

"Sleeping Beauty finally wakes," the Director said, a small smile on her lips. "LiAnn is going to be fine. She has a concussion, but she's already doing better. How do _you_ feel?" 

Vic licked his lips, wincing as he cut his tongue on a fang, and considered the question. "Pretty good, I guess," he admitted. He glanced down at his stomach and noted that there was no trace of where a piece of metal had made a large, fatal hole. "Better than I should." The snarl intensified. "Hungry." 

Immediately, Mac started to roll up his sleeve, but the Director waved him off. "Here," she said, holding out her own arm. Vic flinched; feeding off her was _not_ an appealing idea, although he couldn't quite explain why. "Victor," she said in a tone that made it clear that this was an order, not an invitation. 

Carefully keeping the bedspread wrapped around his waist, Vic moved closer to her and bit into the proffered wrist. 

Despite his reluctance, the Hunger quickly took over and he swallowed greedily. The difference was actually quite interesting. Her blood didn't have the bubbling life of Mac's, but there was an earthiness to it. Like an aged Scotch instead of Champagne; different, but just as intoxicating. A little more mellow than Cash's blood, he thought, and wondered if every person's blood would be as different to his taste buds. Then he stiffened when he realized that he was seriously considering going out and conducting a taste-test. 

"Enough." 

At the order, he pulled away, pausing only long enough to lick the wound. He'd noticed during his feedings from Mac the night before that his saliva seemed to heal the puncture wounds his fangs left. 

The Director nodded, pleased. "And Julian didn't think you could learn control this fast. I'm glad to see you're living up to my expectations." 

"Expectations? You were _expecting_ this?" Vic asked, a little outraged. She frowned at him and he had to fight to keep from cringing. 

"Don't be ridiculous," she said in a stern tone. "Of course I wasn't expecting this. As I told Mac when he came to me after finding out about the Kindred from Cash, I brought the three of you with me to see if you would figure it out. Becoming targets was _not_ in my plans for you. Being Embraced Gangrel _definitely_ wasn't in my plans either." 

The emphasis didn't go unnoticed and Vic's eyes narrowed. "What sort of Embrace _were_ you planning?" he asked, not sure he liked the idea. 

She stared at him levelly for a moment. "Brujah, actually," she finally said, not bothering to deny the implication that she _was_ going to have him Embraced, possibly whether he liked it or not. 

"Are you _nuts_!?" Mac exploded. "Those thugs?" 

The Director turned a glare on him that did little to quell his outrage. "Do not judge an entire clan on a single bad example," she said, ignoring his muttered 'four bad examples, you mean.' "And don't judge the Gangrel based just on Cash. They aren't necessarily any better and you would be wise to remember that." 

Mac looked like he wanted to protest, but Vic cut him off before he could start and get himself in big trouble. "Fine. So now I'm a Gangrel. Just what exactly does that _mean_?" 

"As a member of the clan or the race?" she asked, allowing herself to be deflected. 

"Let's start with the big picture first. What exactly is a Kindred and what does it mean?" 

The Director leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, we don't have time for long explanations; I do have to get to the meetings for tonight. However, I will give you a quick history lesson. 

"The story, as passed through the generations, sounds more like myth than history, and maybe it is just myth. Then again, maybe it isn't. 

"I'm sure you both know the story of Cain and Abel?" She waited until they both nodded, before continuing. "According to the Bible, God marked Cain for the crime of killing his brother and he went into exile in the Land of Nod. About what that mark was, nothing is said. 

"According to Kindred lore, the mark of God made Cain the first vampire. He sought out his father's first wife, Lilith and from her he learned how to use the new disciplines that his mark gave him. When he felt she'd taught him everything she could, he left. He traveled until he found a town of humans and with his abilities, they made him their king and he lived among them for a time, content. 

"But as time went by, he became lonely. Despite warning omens, he chose to Embrace three Childer so that he would have others like him for companions. But the three became uncontrollable, Embracing without care. About the time of the great Flood, their own Childer rose up and destroyed them, and Cain withdrew, never to be seen again, although he did still affect Kindred history after that. Some say that the Nosferatu's disfigurement was a curse from Cain for some long-ago crime. 

"The clans of the Kindred are each supposed to be descended from one of Cain's grand-Childer. Each clan has certain traits and abilities passed on through the Embrace, as well as those that are common to the entire race. In each generation removed from Cain those abilities are weaker, but there are benefits to that, although some would call them flaws. 

"For example, sunlight can kill, but unlike the Vampires of legends, not immediately. In fact, you are of a generation far enough removed that sunlight won't be _too_ much of a problem for you. The older generations sneer at that, but I think it's a benefit, don't you? But I would recommend you avoid bright, sunny days. 

"A stake through the heart won't kill you, but it will immobilize you and weaken you enough that sunlight or fire _will_ kill you. As for garlic, running water and holy symbols? Pure invention. Forget about them. 

"As for the specific abilities of a Gangrel, I will arrange for a teacher once we return to Toronto. You will learn about them then. For now, concentrate on controlling the Hunger. That is the first and most important lesson that any fledgling must learn. Questions?" 

Vic shook his head, more to clear it than anything else. "A million," he said ruefully. 

She snorted. "Unfortunately, there isn't time to answer them all. Make a list. I'll decide which ones I'll answer later. In the meantime, I need to be going. LiAnn is down the hall, but the two of you will remain here. Oh, don't worry, Victor. Now that the initial change is finished, you won't need to feed quite as much. Mac is quite capable of safely supplying you with what you need for tonight." 

She paused and eyed him speculatively. "Mac, go tell Cash to have the car ready," she ordered, then waited until he'd left the room. "Victor, I know you aren't very happy about it, but yes, I did intend to have you Embraced, probably later this year. But not until you knew what it meant." 

"Why?" Vic had to ask. 

She patted his hand. "You are very valuable to me, however I'm sure you've realized though that you can't go on working as a field agent for much longer." Vic nodded, remembering his musings on that just a few nights earlier. "Well, now that won't be a problem, other than the fact that you'll have to do most of your work at night. You're still in your prime and now you will stay there until you die. You should be pleased." 

Vic wasn't so sure about that, but he held his tongue. After all, Cash had offered him a choice and he'd taken the chance at life. He couldn't complain now about what that life was. 

The Director got to her feet and headed for the door. Then she paused and turned around. "And I was quite serious about control," she said sternly. "Tomorrow night, you need to make it through the party without giving yourself away to the non-Kindred. If you can do that, I will believe that you can be safely taken on a plane. If not..." The implied threat was obvious. Vic nodded, completely incapable of breaking eye-contact with her. 

"I'm glad you understand," she said. Then her eyes narrowed, and she muttered something to herself, too low for him to understand. For some reason, Vic found the movement of her lips fascinating. 

"The car is ready," Mac said, reappearing in the doorway. He eyed the two of them suspiciously, obviously wondering about what they'd been talking about while he was gone. Vic had already noticed just how protective of him the younger man had become in the short time since the shooting and it amused him. After all, _he_ was the supernatural creature now. 

The Director left and the door was once again locked behind her. This time though, Vic was a little more confident. The Hunger seemed to be asleep and he'd proven to himself—and everyone else—that he could control himself. 

He was also starting to feel a little better about what he'd become. Last night he hadn't had the time to really think about what he was being offered before accepting. Maybe it would have been different if he were the religious type. As it was, the whole story about being 'descended' from Cain was just that to him: A story. 

But he was still surprised that he _was_ reacting so well. The concept of living off blood was a little disturbing, but the Hunger had overcome his natural revulsion easily enough. And the taste... well, the taste was addictive, he'd already found. 

But even that wouldn't have been enough to save his sanity if he hadn't quickly found out that _killing_ wasn't a requirement of feeding. If it had been, he would have found a way to kill himself, even if he had to starve himself to death to do it. Killing a gunman in a fight was one thing. He was _not_ going to go around killing people just so he could eat. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, I guess so," Vic said thoughtfully. 

"Good." Mac chewed on his lower lip for a moment, looking around the room. Vic wasn't hungry and it wasn't like there was a TV or anything to distract them. Mac started opening cupboards and drawers. "So what did the queen vamp want to say in private?" 

Vic winced and prayed that Mac never used that term around the Director. Her sense of humor was a little strange and she might just laugh. Then again, she might assign him to the dirtiest job around. "Just pointing out some of the advantages of this change." 

"Like what?" Mac asked, perking up with curiosity. 

"Mainly the never aging bit." 

Mac looked like he didn't quite understand, but he nodded and went back to searching the room. Vic rolled his eyes. At ten years younger than him, Mac wasn't going to be facing the same aging problem for a long time yet. He'd understand in a few years when he woke up aching on a regular basis, or found that he couldn't quite touch his toes anymore. 

"Aha!" Mac said triumphantly, pulling a pack of cards and a curved board with two lines of peg-holes carved into it from a drawer. "Cribbage, anyone?" 

Vic snorted, then waved Mac over. He hated cribbage, but at least it was a way to pass the time. 

* * *

Maybe it was the fact that he'd fully changed—whatever that meant —or maybe the Director's blood was more... filling. Whatever it was, it was just past midnight before the Hunger made itself felt again. 

It was slow to start this time. He and Mac had abandoned the cribbage board for other games earlier. Two-handed poker wasn't much fun, so they'd played war for a while, then finally resorted to trading off games of solitaire. 

Vic was leaning over Mac's shoulder, still wrapped in a sheet, kibitzing on the younger man's game when he found his eyes being drawn more and more to the large vein pulsing right below his ear. The first couple of times it happened, he ignored it, but when it happened three times in as many minutes, he finally got the point. The Hunger was just a muted hum in the back of his mind, expressing an interest, not a need. 

"Um... Vic?" 

Vic shook off thoughts of just how sweet Mac's blood had been and moved back. "Sorry about that," he muttered, a little embarrassed at how he'd practically been drooling all over the man's neck. 

"Hey, it's okay. If it's time, just say so." 

"You sure?" 

Mac rolled his eyes. "Would you just do it already?" he said, sounding exasperated. 

Giving in to the need, Vic leaned forward and started to lick Mac's neck. They'd used the wrist the night before, but the long column of the man's neck was just too tempting to resist. When Mac's head fell back, he sank his fangs into the vein and started to suck. 

Vic moaned deep in his throat as the flavor exploded in his mouth. It was even better than he remembered. He definitely preferred it to the taste of the Director's blood, but he wasn't sure if it was the difference between human and Kindred or just the different between the persons in question. 

Despite the temptation to keep drinking, Vic withdrew after only a few swallows, carefully licking the marks away. As he did so, he inhaled deeply. Somehow, every scent was sharper, stronger. He could smell Mac's supper, even thought the tray was long gone. He could smell the lemon of the polish used to clean all the wood in the room. 

And over it all, he could smell the musk of a man's arousal— _Mac's_ arousal—and it was even more intoxicating than the taste of his blood. 

At that moment, the smart thing would have been to move back, get some distance between them, but Vic found that he couldn't. Giving in to an urge that he couldn't explain, he buried his face in the crook of Mac's neck, only this time, instead of using fangs he used his lips, nuzzling the sensitive skin there. 

"Vic..." Mac moaned. There was no protest in his voice. 

Vic lifted his face and turned Mac to face him. The younger man's expression was glazed and his pupils were dilated until his eyes were almost completely black. "Mac," Vic murmured, then covered his mouth with his own. The lips immediately parted and he took the implied invitation, diving in to explore. 

Once he was satisfied that he'd examined every square centimeter, Vic moved on, needing more. He'd tasted Mac's blood, then his mouth, and now he was possessed by the need to taste everything else. 

He kissed, nibbled and licked his way around Mac's face, absently noting how soft the fresh-shaven skin was against his lips. Mac was starting to sweat and he savored the salty taste as he lapped up the liquid dotting his forehead and upper lip. 

He continued his way down the neck he'd so recently been feeding from, mapping out every spot that made Mac moan, until he was stymied by the collar of the man's shirt. A quick pull, accompanied by the sound of ripping fabric, quickly disposed of that obstacle. 

Mac's chest was a forest of dark hair, almost making him self- conscious about his own, mostly smooth flesh. LiAnn had always told him that she preferred her men smooth, but he took that with a grain of salt considering how long she and Mac had been lovers. She was very good at telling people what she thought they wanted to hear. 

Mac's nipples were very sensitive, he was delighted to find, and he spent a long time tormenting them with sucking and nibbling until they were red and swollen and Mac was starting to protest. Deciding to humor him, Vic moved instead to bury his nose in the man's damp armpit, licking up more of the fragrant sweat there. Once the hair was completely saliva-soaked, he transferred his attention to the other side, repeating the process there. 

But there was another place where the sweat-musk would be even stronger, he realized, so he licked his way down further until he reached the waist of Mac's pants. That didn't delay him any more than the shirt had. He barely noticed Mac protesting as he ripped the fabric apart. Underneath, Mac wasn't wearing underpants, he noted with a grin. A convenient time-saver for him. 

All clothing now disposed of, Vic buried his face in Mac's thick bush. The smell of Mac's musk made his head spin as he inhaled deeply. Then he started licking, working his way around the base of Mac's erection. It was large and almost purple in color, with pre- cum rolling down the sides. He decided to save _that_ taste of last and moved to suck on the man's balls instead. They were swollen and heavy in their sack and he sucked first one then the other into his mouth. He briefly considered trying to fit both in at the same time, but decided regretfully that they were too large for that. 

By this time, Mac's hands were desperately trying to get a hold of his hair, pulling him towards the erection that looked almost painfully hard. He begged continuously in sounds that could barely be considered part of the English language. Vic decided to take pity on him and licked his way up the erection, catching every drop of pearly fluid as he went, until he reached the head. 

Vic ran his tongue over it in a slow circle and decided that the fluid there tasted just as good as Mac's blood, but then he'd always loved the taste of semen. The one night he'd spent with Moorcock the year before had reawakened old hungers and now he was ready to indulge himself completely. He probed the slit for more of that fluid and was rewarded with a small spurt that he let roll over his tongue and down his throat. 

The Hunger was roaring now, just not for blood, and while he wanted to draw this out, he knew that Mac was too close to the edge of pain for any more teasing. He took the top half of Mac's erection into his mouth and sucked while he wrapped his fist around the base and started to pump. Mac writhed under him babbling and when he glanced upwards, the brown eyes that met his were completely mindless. 

Too soon—or maybe not soon enough—Mac howled and thrust upwards, pumping out shot after shot of semen. Vic held it in his mouth for as long as possible, then let it slowly slide down his throat. Most of his past lovers would have spat, but _he_ wasn't going to waste a drop. Besides, he would bet that he couldn't catch anything... unpleasant anymore, so he didn't need to worry if his lover was clean or not. 

He let Mac's softening cock slip from his mouth with a sigh of regret. He gave it a couple licks and Mac moaned, but didn't move. 

But the Hunger still wasn't completely satisfied, and he started to caress Mac's inner thighs. He nuzzled the base of the cock in front of him, but all it did was twitch a little, so he moved lower to suck on Mac's balls again. 

Mac gasped and spread his legs wider. Vic slipped his hands under the man's thighs and pushed them up and back, exposing Mac further. He softly scraped Mac's perineum with his teeth, enjoying the resulting jump, then zeroed in on his new target. 

He slowly swiped the tight opening with his tongue and felt it twitch in reaction. The flavor was musky but clean, with a hint of soap from an earlier shower. He'd never had the urge to rim anyone before, but he couldn't resist. It was the one part of Mac that he hadn't tasted yet. 

The Hunger was roaring now and he hardened his tongue into a point and started to probe. Every so often, he backed off long enough to work up some more spit, getting everything good and wet. Somewhere along the line, Mac grabbed his own legs and pulled his knees back almost to his chest, letting Vic concentrate on what he was doing. 

And the noises Mac was making were wildly enthusiastic about what Vic was doing to him. When he checked, Vic found that Mac was already half-hard again and he gave the man's cock a slow pull as he drove his tongue in as far as it would go. 

But that wasn't far enough. He needed to get deeper. He switched to using his fingers, but while the heat squeezing them felt good, it still wasn't enough. 

He moved back up Mac's body and paused with the head of his own neglected erection slowly rubbing against Mac's twitching entrance. Desperate brown eyes met his and the younger man grabbed him, steadily chanting "do it do it do it do it..." 

Obeying the desperate order, Vic slowly pressed into the saliva- lubricated passage. The rim job had been thorough enough that there were no signs of discomfort on Mac's face, assuming that he was in any condition to notice. 

When he finally hit bottom, he stopped and they both moaned. Mac fit him like a glove. He pulled Mac's head up a little so that they could kiss, then started to thrust. 

They quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, like they'd been doing this for years. Mac's legs moved to wrap around his waist and he used the resulting leverage to increase the pace. His fingernails scratched at Vic's back and he knew it was going to sting like hell when they were done. 

"Mac..." he moaned, and dropped his face to the man's neck. 

"Oh fuck, Vic, God," was the incoherent reply. One of Mac's hands moved down so that he could stroke himself and Vic responded by thrusting even harder. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was loud in the room, even louder than their grunts and moans. 

Finally, Mac threw his head back and was coming again, although there was nowhere near as much fluid this time. As Mac's ass went into spasms around his cock, Vic's fangs dropped and he bit down on Mac's shoulder with a roar. The sudden spurt of blood in his mouth pushed him over the edge and he pumped his own semen deep inside his partner. 

The Hunger finally satisfied, Vic collapsed on top of Mac and slipped into darkness. 

* * *

Sometime later, Vic woke with a pounding headache. He felt like he was coming down off an all-night bender and the taste of blood was strong in his mouth. When he looked down, he was horrified to see fresh smears on Mac's shoulder. The bite marks were obvious, just starting to scab over. How could he have been so careless? 

He still wasn't sure what had come over him. He had _never_ used anyone like that before. Sure, Mac hadn't protested—hell, he'd participated enthusiastically—but it didn't change the fact that he'd basically _raped_ the man, and he didn't even know why. All he knew was that he'd looked at the man and had been hit with an overwhelming need to have him. 

And oh, how he'd had him. 

But it wasn't going to happen again, he told himself sternly. He didn't want to be another notch on the man's bedpost. Maybe, if he thought that Mac was willing to commit to a real relationship... 

Then again, maybe not. Mac was his partner and best friend and he wasn't sure he was willing to risk _that_ relationship, no matter how good the sex had been. In the end, sleeping with Stan had ruined _their_ friendship. He wasn't going to let that happen to him again. 

But looking down at the sleeping man, he couldn't help wishing that things were different. Mac was an important part of his life and he knew that he could easily fall in love with the man. Hell, in a way, he already had. 

Perhaps someday he would find someone else to share his life, although that seemed less likely now. After all, who would want to settle down with a vampire? 

But for the moment, he would have to be happy with watching this man sleep curled up against him and indulge himself in fantasies where that was where he belonged. 

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

When the sun came up, Vic lapsed once more into a coma-like state. Mac found it more that a little disturbing—the man wasn't even breathing—but took comfort in the fact that it was just temporary. He preferred not to think about how close it had come to being permanent. 

He went into the attached bathroom to shower and shave, washing off the last traces of sweat, semen and blood left from the night before. His ass ached, but it was a pleasant sort of ache. 

When he came back out, the door was unlocked. He pulled his clothes back on, trying to ignore how wrinkled they were—couldn't someone have bothered to supply them with clean clothing?—and headed downstairs to find food and slightly more lively company. He was feeling dizzy and light-headed, no doubt due to blood loss, and he was hungry. 

"Mac! How are you feeling?" 

Mac smiled brightly at the sight of the man who'd really been the start of all this: Cash. He hadn't seen the man since they'd arrived at the estate and was glad to see that the man was in one piece and looking unconcerned. "Starved. Where can someone who _doesn't_ live off blood get a meal?" 

"Come on, I'm sure we can find you something in the kitchen. I didn't see you yesterday." 

Mac followed as the Gangrel led the way. "I slept most of the day. Exhausted, I guess. The Director must have left orders though, since there was a food tray there every time I woke up." 

"She does seem rather protective of her people." 

The kitchen was deserted, but the cupboards and fridge were well- stocked, although the baggies of blood, he tried to ignore. Still, he found that strange and said so as he pulled out eggs and bacon and bread for toast. He wasn't a cook, but scrambled eggs he could handle. 

Cash laughed. "Julian is a corporate head," he pointed out. "He entertains a lot. Plus, it keeps up appearances to have groceries delivered." 

"The Masquerade." 

"Exactly." 

"And you two are... okay? I mean, you aren't in trouble over what happened with Vic?" 

Cash shrugged. "He was pissed, but more with Marcus than anyone else. Toronto speaking on my behalf helped. Cameron's pushing to have me punished, but considering that it was _his_ Brujah broke Truce, he doesn't have a lot of say in it. The Brujah have lost a lot of power over this," he added with a feral glee. 

Mac's eyes narrowed. "You _really_ don't like them, do you," he said more than asked. 

"No," was the fierce reply. Then Cash relaxed a little. "Gangrel and Brujah have always been enemies," he explained, "but for me it's a little more personal. A couple of years ago, I was in love with a niece of Julian's, Sasha. Last of his family's line. Julian gave me permission to Embrace her as Gangrel, but Eddie Fiori, the previous Brujah Primogen, sent one of his thugs to Embrace her by force. He was trying to push Julian into making an illegal move. The Prince might make the laws, but he isn't above them, and Eddie was too strong to slap down at the time.." 

Mac hissed. "What happened to her? And him?" 

"The Brujah who Embraced her was killed for it, torn to pieces. Eddie died a little while later. He finally stepped over the line and was executed. And Sasha..." Cash sighed and dropped his eyes. "We tried to work it out, but the blood instincts were tearing her apart. Finally, she decided to leave town. I haven't seen her since. Last I heard, she was in New Orleans and rising through the Brujah ranks there." The regret was clear in his voice. 

"But I thought you and Julian were lovers," Mac said in confusion, looking up from the frying pan. 

"We are." Cash grinned at his expression. "Kindred rules are different from human rules. Monogamy is not very common. At the time, Julian was sleeping with a human woman who worked for him, Lillie and me. Lillie was sleeping with him, Zane and Cameron. And there was this cop that they were both trying to seduce. Julian got him first, then Lillie, but he eventually chose Gangrel." Cash smirked, obviously self-satisfied over that. 

Mac shook his head. "I don't think I could live like that," he said. He slept with a lot of people, but never at the same time. 

Cash shrugged. "Things change when you're Embraced. When you're looking at a life-span potentially of centuries, some things aren't as important. Plus, we're immune to human diseases, which is handy these days." 

"What about love?" Mac asked, dropping his breakfast onto a plate and sitting down. 

"Oh, we love. Believe me, we love. But love and sex aren't necessarily connected. Plus, the Hunger is driven by more than just blood, as you've already found out." The grin he gave Mac was wicked, and Mac shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"I don't know what you mean." 

"Right," Cash drawled. "That's why you winced when you sat down. And you reek of semen, I might add." 

"I showered!" 

Cash tapped the side of his nose. "Kindred have sharper senses." 

Mac deflated. "I don't know what the hell happened," he muttered. 

"Hey, you wanted him, he wanted you. What else matters?" 

"Only it wasn't like that," Mac said. "It was out of the blue. Totally unexpected." 

"And great?" 

"Oh, yeah," Mac breathed, remembering. "At the time, at least." 

"Then what's the problem?" 

"I don't know! It was so intense that I passed out, and I've never done that before. But when I woke up, it was like it never happened. He wouldn't talk about it. He would barely even look at me. It was like he felt guilty or something." 

"Maybe he did. If he was swept away by the Hunger, he might feel like he took advantage of you. Don't worry, he'll get over it." 

"Maybe," Mac said helplessly. "It was weird, though. The look in his eyes... It was like he wasn't quite there. And afterwards, every so often I'd catch him looking at me with this confused expression." 

Cash frowned thoughtfully while Mac worked his way through the oversized plate of bacon and eggs. He didn't usually eat breakfast, but he was starved. "I wish I could tell you more, but the blood- bond between us is very weak." 

"Blood-bond?" Mac asked around a mouthful. 

"When a Kindred feeds someone their blood, it gives them a link to that person," Cash said, falling into a lecture tone. "They become the most important thing in that person's world. It also gives them an influence over the person. Actually, I'm a little surprised at how weak my link to Vic is, so soon after the Embrace. Either he's extremely strong-willed, or someone is interfering." 

Mac's eyes narrowed as he remembered the night before. "Would the Director ordering Vic to feed off of her do it?" 

"Yeah. A more recent bond to an older vampire..." He paused. "And she's Ventrue. One of their traits is Dominate. It lets them influence others, _especially_ those they have a blood-bond with." 

"What, you mean like mind control?" Mac asked in disbelief. 

"Not completely. More like implanting a suggestion." 

Mac sighed. "Like an urge to have sex with your partner? Great. Just great." He liked that even less than Vic having second thoughts. "Why?" 

Cash shook his head. "Who knows? She's Ventrue _and_ a Prince. If she did it, I'm sure she has her reasons, but don't expect to understand them. Hell, I love Julian and I've been with him for more than a decade, but understand him? Not often. 

"The blood-bond, sure. She would want Vic bound to her, not someone out of town. Ventrue are big into control. The sex, if she's responsible, is probably for similar reasons. She wants to tie Vic to her. Probably you too." 

Mac wasn't sure how getting him sleeping with Vic would do that, but it made a certain amount of sense. The Director was very good at manipulations. Hell, there were times when she manipulated them just for the fun of it. 

But if what had happened the night before _was_ the Director's doing, what did it mean for him and Vic? He knew the ex-cop well; if Vic thought he'd been manipulated into sleeping with Mac, he might walk. Certainly, he'd never touch Mac again; a decidedly unpleasant thought. 

But he couldn't help thinking that he should be more careful about what he wished for in the future. He'd wanted one no-strings- attached night with the man and he'd gotten it. Now he had to deal with the consequences. 

"Good morning, boys. Have a good night?" 

The suggestive tone and the speculative look that the Director gave him as she came into the room moved the idea that she'd arranged things from the 'maybe' list to 'almost certain.' Mac resolved to make sure that Vic never found out, for both their sakes. 

Mac watched in sick fascination as she pulled one of the small baggies of blood from the fridge and stuck a straw in it to sip delicately, like one of those juice packs that kids drank. "Just dandy," he said, dragging his eyes up to meet an amused gaze. "Would have been better if we'd had more than a deck of cards to amuse ourselves with, though." 

"Oh, I'm sure you found... something to pass the time." She looked him up and down with a smug expression, her nose no doubt as sharp as Cash's. 

Okay, forget 'almost certain.' It was definite. But why? 

"So," Mac said, dumping his dishes in the sink and starting the water running. "How come you two are up and about while Vic's doing a zombie impression upstairs?" Never let it be said that Mac Ramsey couldn't avoid a subject. 

The Director chuckled, but it was Cash who answered. "The change takes a lot of energy, so he needs to sleep a lot. Plus, his body is adjusting to a nocturnal schedule. Forcing him to sleep all day is the fastest way to do that. Give him a week or two and he'll be able to function after sunrise." 

"Indoors," the Director added. "It will take a little longer to build up any sort of resistance to sunlight. A year or two, at least." 

"Is that why you can go out in the sun; because you're... um... older?" Mac asked, trying to be diplomatic. He could remember seeing the Director outdoors during the day on a few rare occasions. 

"Partly. I dress to cover. Plus, the Agency scientists have developed a handy makeup foundation that provides some added protection." 

"Really?" Cash perked up. 

"Yes, really. Don't worry, the formula one of the things I handed out during the meetings. It will be up to the individual Princes whether they tell any of their people about it, or keep it for themselves. 

"But I do prefer the night," she said, returning to the original topic. "It's more... subtle." 

Subtle wasn't necessarily a word that usually to mind when thinking about the Director, but Mac kept his mouth shut. 

"Well," she said as he finished washing up. "I've arranged to have our luggage delivered here. Remember that the party is tonight. You know what to wear. And, no," she added from the doorway on the way out, "you may _not_ skip the accessories. Ta, ta!" 

"Accessories?" Cash asked, one eyebrow gone up. 

"Don't ask," Mac said with a groan. "Please." 

* * *

Cash had to leave after that, having work to do for Julian, so Mac found himself at loose ends. He watched Cash drive away in a car with darkly-tinted windows, then decided that he didn't really want to return to the 'scene of the crime.' Instead, he went exploring. 

The Luna estate screamed money: old money and lots of it. On the ground floor alone he saw five paintings that if fenced together would bring in six-figures easily. His fingers twitched with old instincts, but he restrained the urge. He wasn't a thief anymore. Besides, he now knew enough to know that stealing from Luna would probably be a very stupid thing to do. 

But still, that miniature in the dining room was _very_ tempting. Easily portable too. 

And it wasn't just paintings. The sculptures were just as fine in quality and value. Bronze, marble and plaster. Ancient, Renaissance and modern. It was almost like a museum. And in the library were a selection of rare first editions, some signed by the author. A couple were even personally inscribed to Julian himself. The boy got around. 

The safe was easy to find, but he left it alone. Mac's curiosity was running away with him, speculating on what treasures might be inside, but decided that getting caught at it would be bad thing. He left the computer alone for the same reason. 

Upstairs looked to be mostly living areas: bedrooms, bathrooms and the occasional sitting room. As he tried doorknobs, he found most of them locked. The few that weren't led to rooms that were obviously not in use at the moment. Again, Mac restrained his curiosity. 

Besides, his lock-pick set was back in Toronto. 

By that point, he'd killed a couple hours and the only part of the building he hadn't checked out was the cellar. An estate like this had to have one, for the wine if nothing else, but he couldn't find the stairs. He wondered why anyone would bother concealing the stairs to the cellar. Maybe it had been converted to dungeons, he thought with a grin. The grin quickly disappeared. For all he knew, they _had_. 

And through it all, he never saw another soul. It was downright creepy. Kind of like the way that the Agency headquarters in Toronto always seemed deserted. They never saw any of the support staff unless it was needed for a case, and usually that was just Nathan, the nervous little twit in the archives with a thing for Vic. 

Finally, he gave up and headed back to the library to find a book to distract him for the rest of the morning. Then he'd probably use one of those empty rooms for an afternoon nap; he wasn't sure that he could sleep next to Vic without a major case of the guilts. 

He was a little surprised to find LiAnn already there, reading, or at least pretending to. She looked very pale, with dark circles under her eyes. "Hey, how you feeling?" Mac asked softly when she finally noticed him. 

She shrugged. "Better. Confused. Scared. Angry. You name it." 

"Angry?" Mac asked. He was the one confused at that moment. 

"Yes, _angry_." She dropped the book on the table next to the loveseat. "Damnit, Mac, why didn't you tell me? You knew about... about what was going on and you didn't _tell_ me. I thought we were partners. I thought we were more." By the end, she had gone from a shout to a whisper. 

Mac sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She was shaking. The last time he could remember her shaking like this was the day when she'd come to tell him that she was ready to run from the Tangs with him, more than four years earlier. 

"You are," he said, rocking her gently. "You're my sister, my partner and a part of me. But the Director told me not to, and you know what she's like. I couldn't tell you, I couldn't tell Vic. All I could do was sit and wait and worry." 

LiAnn pressed her face into his shoulder. "He was waiting for me in the back hall, near the washrooms," she said softly. "He was pretending to talk on the payphone. He grabbed me as I went past. He was strong, I couldn't break free. He dragged me outside. 

"He told me over and over again what he was going to do to me after he killed you." Her voice was cracking and he held her tighter as the words tumbled out. "He was going to torture me and rape me and then bring me back so that he could do it all over again, he said. I didn't understand! So he bit me and he started... sucking..." She was gasping around deep sobs by that point. "I tried to get away, but he slammed me against the wall so hard that I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to die." 

"It's all right, LiAnn," he murmured, stroking her hair. "You're all right. He's dead. He can't hurt you or anyone else." 

"He killed Vic!" 

"Vic's going to be okay," Mac pointed out. 

"But now he's one of _them_. He isn't Vic anymore." 

Mac shook his head sadly. This was one reaction that no one had expected. "He's still the same person," he assured her. "He's still our partner, still the man you fell in love with once. That hasn't changed." 

But LiAnn didn't seem to be listening, she was so caught up in her fears. "I don't think I can face him. I'd always be wondering when he was going to turn on me. I just can't deal with that." 

Her words sent a chill through Mac. "What are you saying, you want to break up the partnership? You can't mean it. We're a _team_." 

"I... I don't know. I need some time." She pulled away from him, scrubbing at her face. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but finally just got to her feet and left the room. Mac could already see the recently cracking walls dropping back into place. 

He watched her go, a feeling of dread sending chills through him. It seemed like his world was coming apart—his _family_ was coming apart. 

But he'd be damned if he was going to let that happen without a fight. 

* * *

Feeling more than a little shell-shocked, Mac made a half-hearted attempt to eat lunch, then headed upstairs. He went into the room next to the one where Vic was, undressed and lay down to sleep. 

An hour later, he gave up. Sleep just wasn't happening. Every time he closed his eyes he had visions of a future where he was alone. LiAnn had left because she couldn't handle Vic's change and Vic had left because he couldn't handle what had happened either. The team had fallen apart and it was all his fault. 

But he needed sleep. If he was supposed to be on display, so to speak, at a party, he better not be yawning. But the room was too silent and the bed was too large. 

And too empty. 

Mac sat up and sighed. That was the real problem; he didn't want to be alone. He pulled on his clothes, not bothering to do anything up, and headed for the room next door. There he found Vic lying in the same position he'd left the man in that morning. Mac pulled off his clothes again, dropping them next to the suitcases that someone had delivered and left next to the armoire in the corner, then crawled into bed. 

Almost immediately, he started to relax. Vic wasn't going to leave. For one thing, the Director wouldn't let him. She got him out of jail and she still had a tight hold on him as a result. The same way she had a hold on him, he admitted to himself. 

And once LiAnn calmed down, she wouldn't leave either. She was just upset because of what Marcus did. Once she realized that Vic was the same person he always was, she'd be okay. 

The team was safe. His family was safe. He wasn't going to lose them. 

He curled up against Vic's slightly cool form and drifted off to sleep, his cheek pressed against the man's chest. It was a nice place to be. 

* * *

Sometime later, Mac woke to the strange sensation of his pillow trying escape. Grumbling sleepily, he wrapped his arms around it a little tighter to hold it in place. 

"Mac, I'd like to move." 

Mac grunted, trying to get back to sleep. Sleep was good. 

"Mac, you need to let go." His talking pillow shifted again. 

"Don wanna," he muttered, trying to hand onto that peaceful place where he'd been. Vic was making that very difficult, squirming like he was. 

"Mac!" A sigh. "It's time to get up. If we don't shower and change in time for the party, the Director will come looking for us." 

That hit Mac like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped over his head. "Spoilsport," he grumbled, sitting up in bed. He glanced over at his partner and sighed when the man still wouldn't meet his eyes. He was not going to let _that_ go on any longer. "About last night..." he started to say, but Vic cut him off. 

"Don't worry, it won't happen again." 

"Not even if I want it to?" Mac snapped back, a little tired of the self#151;sacrificing tone that Vic was so good at. 

That got Vic's attention and when he turned his head to look at Mac. Mac took advantage of the open-mouthed expression to home in for a deep kiss. 

He had several reasons for kissing Vic. Partly it was to reassure the man, in case Cash was right and he felt like he'd taken advantage of Mac. Partly it was to reassure himself that even if it _was_ the Director who'd... arranged what had happened, that Vic might honestly want him, if only physically. The immediate response he got confirmed that hope. 

But mostly, he kissed Vic because the man all sleep-rumpled was beautiful and he really _really_ wanted to kiss him. 

But despite the response, Vic pushed him away. "We shouldn't be doing this." 

"Why not?" Mac asked, determined to settle matters before it became a wedge driving them apart. 

"Because... because it will change things." 

"Change can be good," he pointed out. "Change is part of life." 

Vic shook his head sadly. "Not this kind of change. I've been burnt too many times. Stan. LiAnn. I don't want to screw this up too." 

Mac reached out to touch Vic's shoulder. "We've all been burnt, Mac. My flames were Michael, LiAnn and Claire. Doesn't mean you hide from life." 

"So what are you saying, Mac? You want to settle down with me in domestic bliss? Buy a house with a white picket fence? One next to a blood bank, of course." Vic's dripped with sarcasm, but there was a plaintive note to it. 

Mac flinched, but hid it well. That was moving a little too fast for him, although he'd do it if that was what it took. "Does it have to be that complicated? Can't we just take things one day at a time, one step at a time?" 

Vic sighed. "I don't know. Everything is changed. I need time to deal with that. I need... time." 

Mac pulled back reluctantly. Even though he wasn't really ready to settle down, commit himself _that_ much, he still found himself a little disappointed that Vic had turned the idea down. "Sure, we can do that. But it you ever need... um... a meal—or more—call me first. Please?" 

Vic smiled—a faint one, but a smile nonetheless. "I will," he promised. He leaned forward to kiss Mac, then inhaled sharply. Mac could see the Hunger starting to form in the man's eyes and tilted his head back in silent invitation. 

"Hold it right there." 

Both of them twisted to look towards the door and the unexpected interruption. The Director was standing there; Mac wondered for how long. "He can't keep up tonight if he's low on blood. Here." She tossed over a baggie of blood, like the one she'd had for breakfast. "This should do you. Now, be good boys and get ready. We leave in an hour." 

She left as quickly as she had appeared, swaying on her high heels. 

Mac exchanged rueful glances with Vic. "Flip you for the first shower." 

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Vic stared at his reflection in the mirror, tugging at his clothes in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. Actually, the clothes were probably the best fitting he'd ever worn. They felt like they'd been specifically tailored for him—which they probably had. Even the boots didn't need breaking in. 

No, it wasn't the clothes that made him uncomfortable, it was the persona they projected. The man in the mirror, dressed in glossy black leather and pristine white silk, looked dangerous; the sort of man you didn't want to meet in a dark alley on the wrong side of town. He looked like a... hunter. 

Only thing was, this hunter was on a leash. 

Vic ran a finger under the gold-decorated black leather collar. It was silk-lined, so he couldn't even complain that _it_ was uncomfortable. Except mentally, that is. The motion that made the gold chain that connected to the collar to the matching belt chime lightly. Vic winced. He was wearing a collar and a leash. It was humiliating. 

"Looking hot," Mac said, coming out of the bathroom. In a way, it was just as well the younger man had lost the coin toss. If Vic had had to wait for him to finish, he'd be heading off with damp hair and feeling like he'd forgotten to wash behind his ears or something. 

"I feel like a fucking dog," he snapped back, trying to avoid looking at Mac. 

He'd been quite serious about needing time to think. He was going to have enough trouble adjusting to what he'd become without trying to deal with a relationship at the same time; especially with someone as volatile as Mac. He had to admit, though, Mac had had a point. He'd been all hung up on relationships being an either-or situation; either marriage or completely casual. Taking it one step at a time was actually a good idea. 

And the current step was _not_ going to involve sex, even if the younger man's appearance was making his mouth water. 

Seeing Mac's outfit hanging on a clothes hanger was definitely _not_ the same as seeing it on the man. The leather pants left nothing to the imagination, hugging the lines of his legs tightly and showing off the fact that a) he wasn't wearing underwear and b) he was very... well developed—something that Vic already knew from personal inspection. Over that, Mac wore a white silk poet's shirt with flowing sleeves ending in tight cuff and lace trim. The front was open to the waist, showing a great deal of dark chest hair. Topping it all was a black leather vest. 

Together, they were obviously intended to be a matched pair, their outfits different in style but the same in color and material. Even the accessories continued that theme. 

The heavy gold chain wrapped around Mac's neck, resting right above his collar bone. In his hand he held the other 'present' from the Director. He tossed in from hand to hand, looking at the device with an expression of distaste. 

Then he sighed and reached under his shirt, fumbling for a minute or so. When he lowered his hands, a delicate gold chain stretched across his chest. He rolled his shoulders in an unconsciously sensual motion, like he was trying to get comfortable. 

He looked delicious and suddenly Vic's pants weren't as comfortable as they _had_ been. Once again, he wondered if his no-sex rule was such good idea. Then he threw a mental bucket of cold water over his libido. The Hunger was humming, but since he'd fed less than an hour earlier, he refused to give in. 

Mac took a deep breath and straightened up. "Ready to go?" 

"Ready as I'm ever going to be," Vic replied, pleased at how steady his voice was. He waved towards the door, letting Mac go first. 

It was ridiculous, but he was a little scared about leaving the room. The man he'd been coming in was quite literally dead. He felt like leaving it would be admitting that. In a way, you could call the room his womb, and now that it was time to leave it, he didn't want to be born. 

But he didn't really have a choice, so he steeled himself and stepped forward, pausing only long enough to shut the door behind them. 

Strangely enough, he didn't really _feel_ any different. In fact, all he felt, heading down the stairs and trying not to stare at Mac's ass, was self-conscious. He wasn't looking forward to this party. People who knew what had happened two nights earlier were going to be watching him closely for any signs of slipping in this Masquerade thing, and the ones that didn't... well, he didn't know _what_ they'd think when they saw him and didn't particularly _want_ to. 

The Director was waiting for them in the foyer, along with LiAnn, Cash and the man that Vic assumed was their host, Julian Luna. 

Vic felt his jaw drop at the sight of LiAnn. He'd been expecting the third member of their team to be dressed in black leather and white silk, the same as him and Mac, but her outfit was anything but. She wore a silk dress in China red, high necked and sleeveless, a black embroidered dragon curving around her slender frame. The long skirt was slit all the way up to the hip. Her shoes were black with red embroidery with low heels, looking more like ballet slippers. The only jewelry she wore was the gold necklace with the scepter charm that they'd been given before the start of the trip and a pair of diamond earrings. 

Next to her, the Director wore a black evening gown, tight in all the right places. Over it she wore a black bolero jacket made from leather that had a decorative cable design of red, gold and white, tying them all together; an unpleasant metaphor, as far as Vic was concerned. 

As for the others, Luna was in a classic Armani-style tuxedo and next to him, Cash looked dangerous in black leather. 

Vic and Mac stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the verdict. 

The Director walked in a slow circle around them and Vic felt his face flame. Next to him, Mac fidgeted nervously. She stopped in front of Mac and adjusted the hang of his shirt so that the nipple clamps that supported the gold chain were more obvious, smacking his hands when he tried to pull it shut again. Then she adjusted the lie of Vic's collar and stepped back. 

"Very nice, don't you think?" 

Luna was smiling, and his expression reminded Vic of the Director at her most predatory. "They'll certainly be very popular." 

Suddenly, Vic had the urge to head back up the stairs—run, don't walk—and lock himself back in his womb. If the party was anything like this inspection, he did _not_ want to be there. 

But it was too late to run. Already they were being steered out the door and into two limousines. 

"Relax," the Director said with a smile from the seat opposite him. "You're going to do fine." 

"Doing _what_?" he demanded. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Luna's comment about being very popular. What did he mean?" 

The puzzled frown disappeared and the Director laughed. "As dance partners," she said. "What were you thinking, that you were going to be handed out as party favors?" 

Said out loud, it sounded ridiculous, but Vic wasn't so sure that it was completely improbably. After all, look at the Caligula. If the woman was founder of a kinky sex club, complete with dungeons, then who knew _what_ she and her kind were capable of? 

Then Vic remembered that they were also _his_ kind now. Somehow, it didn't reassure him. 

At least LiAnn now looked all right. If there was any bruising left, it was disguised with subtle makeup and the hang of her carefully- done hairdo. She was beautiful. 

However, she refused to look at him. Every so often her eyes started to drift his way, only to dart away, never meeting his. It bothered him and judging by the Director's frown as she watched the interplay, he wasn't the only one. 

A hand dropped on his knee and squeezed reassuringly before moving away again. Vic gave Mac a small smile in response. 

Everything was starting to seem surreal. Nothing was what it had been before, least of all him. LiAnn was obviously avoiding him, the Director was not what he'd thought and Mac had become something less than a lover but more than a partner. Vic found himself wondering when he'd fallen through the rabbit hole and how he was going to get out. Unfortunately, no handy white rabbit ran past muttering about being late, so it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare for that matter. 

They pulled up outside the Haven, right behind Luna's car. They could already hear the music as they got out of the car. 

"Welcome!" Lillie said brightly as they moved into the main room, obviously there to greet all arrivals. She was dressed like something out of a forties glamour magazine in cream and sequins, her auburn hair drawn up into a complicated style quite different from LiAnn's simplicity. Vic found himself blushing again as she stepped close to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome to the family," she said softly. "Although _I_ think you would have been better as a Toreador." 

The Director glared at her and Lillie backed off with a smile. She didn't seem very intimidated, but she gave the Director a respectful nod before heading off to welcome the next group of arrivals. 

"They always think that _everyone_ should want to be one of them," the Director muttered, leading them in. "Don't take it to heart. You'd be a lousy Toreador." 

The atmosphere in the room was a far cry from what it had been all week. Most of the tables and chairs had been removed, forcing people to mingle. And mingle they did, although like before, he could see a definitely pattern forming. This time, though, he had a pretty good idea of just what that pattern was: Clan groupings. 

Something else was different, in a slightly more disturbing way. During the week, people had occasionally glanced at him, then seemed to dismiss him as if he were of no interest. Tonight was a different matter. Tonight, eyes narrowed and stayed focused on him longer. 

Some of them nodded—a very small number—and he felt a strange sort of kinship with them. He glanced at the Director. 

"Other Gangrel for the most part, I would assume," she said softly. "There won't be many here. Most of the Gangrel decided to disassociate themselves from the Camarilla in the last few years, so they don't have a say in the councils. However, some members of the clan are still part of the Camarilla. The ones here are probably mostly bodyguards, like Cash." 

"Camarilla?" 

She waved off the question. "Later. It's not a short explanation. Add it to your list." She took his arm and led him into the crowd. 

What followed was a blur of faces, both friendly and hostile. The hostile ones seemed able to raise his hackles without even a word. The friendly ones were a little more comfortable, although to widely differing degrees. 

The were introduced to both Princes and their entourages from what seemed like every major city in North America. Vic jokingly asked about a couple of the cities that _weren't_ represented and the Director responded with a cold look and the comment that _that_ would have to wait until later too. Vic's list of questions was growing quickly. 

And it was obvious that while she was introducing _all_ of them around, Vic was the focus. Everyone seemed to be taking his measure. Vic didn't like it: he'd always preferred to fade into the background, the observer not the observed. Unfortunately, he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. 

Still, it sure as hell beat the alternative. 

Finally, she led them over to the bar and Vic breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He couldn't remember the names of most of the people he'd met and his feet were aching. He was desperate for a drink— alcohol, not blood, although he was starting to feel _that_ need too. 

Mac ordered a Tsingtao—his favorite beer—and LiAnn a white wine. Vic was about to ask for a beer as well when the Director cut him off, asking for two wines, no other qualifiers. 

Vic frowned at the glass he was handed. He didn't much like wine, red wine especially. The Director just stared at him until he sighed and took a reluctant sip. 

The flavor exploded in his mouth and he suddenly realized just _why_ the mysterious thick red wine was so popular. 

"What is it?" Mac asked curiously as Vic fought the urge to chug the contents of his glass. 

"Blood wine." 

Mac paled slightly when Vic nodded in confirmation; the liquid was at least half blood, mixed with a red wine. LiAnn flinched, something she'd been doing a lot as the evening went on. 

"Ah, there's someone I'd like you to meet," the Director said and was tugging at his arm to steer him the direction she wanted. 

Vic sighed. It was going to be a long night. Again. 

* * *

It was well after midnight by the time he managed to separate his boss's hand from his elbow and find a quiet spot, away from the crowd. The Director had insisted that he dance with her several times, as had Lillie, and he'd been... encouraged to dance with several other party-goers who'd approached him. He was beginning to think that he _was_ going to end up a party favor. 

But he'd finally found an out-of-the-way spot and a wall to lean against. He'd kill for a chair, but there weren't any free ones to be found. The band was playing a steamy tango and from his vantage point, he could see that Mac had finally managed to coax LiAnn out onto the dance floor. He'd never seen them dance together before. Mac had described to him what it was like, back when they'd been rivals, but it wasn't the same as seeing them. 

They moved like one person in two bodies; seamless and perfect. They were a beautiful matched pair and he wasn't the only one watching them. Vic felt a sudden pang of jealousy, although he wasn't sure which one he was jealous _of_. 

He'd never danced with LiAnn. Correction, he had. Once. However, she'd made no attempt to hide her amusement at his lack of polish, so he'd never tried again. 

Come to think of it, she'd always been good at putting him down for his lack of 'sophistication.' She'd managed to imply without ever saying it outright that he was less intelligent than her. Sure, Mac had done the exact same thing at first, but he'd never tried to pretend that it was anything more than the typical male head-butting rituals. They put each other down, they fought over LiAnn. With LiAnn, the put-downs were all one-sided and a little more subtle. 

Looking back, Vic was surprised that he and LiAnn had lasted as long as they had. Even if Mac _hadn't_ returned from the dead, they would have gone their separate ways eventually. Sooner or later, he would have been unable to ignore her attitude any longer. So maybe Mac had done them all a favor by giving her an excuse to back out before it was too late for them to stay friends. 

"Well, well, well. The new dog boy." 

Caught off-guard by the unexpected voice, Vic jumped. The man who'd slipped up next to him was one he hadn't met, although he vaguely remembered seeing him a couple times during the week. But there was something about the man that annoyed him. "I beg your pardon?" 

"You should. You cost me four of my best men." 

The comment told him just who he was talking to. "Cameron, I presume," he said frostily. He stood up straight, instantly on edge. Unfortunately, there was no one nearby that he knew, let alone trusted. 

"And you are Cash's little mistake," was the sneering reply. "You should be just as dead as _my_ people, along with your law-breaking sire. The only reason you aren't is because Luna likes the pretty ones. Tell me, has he fucked you yet?" 

Vic bristled at the man's tone. "I suggest you find someone else to blame," he told the handsome man. "Your people got _themselves_ into trouble by attacking someone under your boss's truce. It was their own stupidity that got them dead, not me." 

He started to walk away, but a hand like iron grabbed him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He pulled, but the man didn't budge. He stopped struggling and turned to stare at the man. "I suggest you let go." 

Cameron stepped closer until they were almost nose to nose. "Watch your back, puppy. Your Prince isn't all-powerful and I have a lot of contacts." 

"Are you threatening me?" Vic asked in disbelief. The man was a thug, pure and simple. Hard to believe that he held any sort of power, let alone was able to hang onto it. Then again, from what he'd been told, Cameron was definitely on his way out. 

"Just stating facts, little boy. Toronto isn't out of my reach. Remember that." 

He let go suddenly, obviously expecting Vic to go flying. Vic just shook his head and walked away. 

"Are you okay?" Mac asked, coming towards him at a near run, Cash right behind him. Vic wondered if they'd been off somewhere together and felt that pang of jealousy again. 

"Just fine. Cameron wanted to make a few useless threats. Nothing I can't handle." 

"Don't be so sure of that," Cash said darkly. 

Vic snorted. "Yeah, right. The day I can't handle a thug like him#151;" 

"Is the day you die. Permanently. I'm serious," Cash added when Vic shook his head. "Do you know what the leading cause of death is among the newly-Embraced?" 

Cash stared at him expectantly until Vic finally sighed and obediently said, "All right, I'll bite. What is the leading cause of death among the newly-Embraced." He felt like the straight man in a joke. 

"Pissing off older Kindred," was the blunt reply. 

"And your point would be?" 

Cash grabbed his arm and dragged him into a corner where no one was watching them, Mac following on his heels. Once they were away from prying eyes, Cash slammed him up against the wall. Vic struggle for a moment, but he couldn't shift the man anymore than he'd been able to break Cameron's grip. 

"Listen to me and listen good," he said softly. "Older Kindred are going to be stronger than you, with abilities that you won't develop for several decades, assuming you life that long. And the older ones like nothing better than slapping down uppity fledglings, especially from other clans. Don't count on your boss to protect you." 

The serious expression on the man's face sent shivers up and down Vic's spine. Normally he'd laugh the warning off, coming from someone who didn't know him well, but there was something in the man's eyes that convinced him that he wasn't playing games. He nodded. 

Cash relaxed and took a step back. "Learn to watch what you say. You'll recognize other Kindred when you meet them. Be careful around them until you learn how they'll react. And practice. A lot. Once you've learned more, then you can push back." 

He lifted a hand and brushed the back of his knuckles along Vic's cheekbone and smiled. "Don't worry too much, though. I think you'll go far. And if you need advice, someone to talk to, just give me a call." He sighed. "I wish I could do more. I always said that I'd never abandon one of my childer. The typical Gangrel sire abandons his or her childer to find their own way for a decade or two before reclaiming them. I didn't want to do that. Unfortunately, your Prince won't let me be there for you." 

Vic closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm scared," he whispered. There was something about the man that seemed to drag the admission out of him. Cash's hand moved down to rest on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "I don't know what's going to happen when we get home." 

"She's going to find you a teacher, she says. Someone who will teach you what you need to survive. After that? Really, not a lot will have changed. You're still you. The only thing that's changed is that you'll need to stay inside during the day." 

"And drink blood." 

Cash shrugged. "Whatever. It's not that hard to get used to it." 

Vic didn't respond; he'd already learned the truth of that. 

Suddenly, Cash lifted his head. He looked like he was listening to something that neither Vic nor Mac could hear. "I've got to go," he said reluctantly. "Julian needs me." 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Cash leaned forward and kissed him. 

The man's lips were cool against his, completely unlike the fever- hot touch of Mac's. Vic's reaction was immediate and unexpected, opening up to Cash like he was the most desirable man in the universe. Vic was reeling with confusion when the man finally pulled away and left. 

Vic watched him walk away, feeling more than a little dazed. He turned to find Mac watching him with a stormy expression. In fact, he'd almost swear that the young man was as jealous as _he'd_ been feeling earlier. 

"An... interesting man," he said, suddenly feeling the urge to tease his partner. "I just wish I was going to have the chance to get to know him better." 

"I'll bet," Mac muttered under his breath. Vic hid his grin. Mac _was_ jealous. 

Vic slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We're heading home tomorrow." Thank God. "Then everything goes back to normal, or what passes for normal for us." 

"I wish I could believe that," Mac sighed. "But I'm not so sure. LiAnn's kinda traumatized by what Marcus did to her. She's... well... scared of you. Scared of any Kindred. I'm sure she'll get over it pretty fast, but right now..." His voice trailed off. 

Vic sighed. This explained LiAnn's behavior all evening. "So what happens to the team?" he asked, more resigned than anything else. He should have known better than to think it was going to go back to the way it had been. His mood-swings were starting to give him motion-sickness. 

"I don't know. Best guess? The Director splits us up until she gets over it. Maybe she'll put LiAnn to work with Jackie for a while." 

Vic snorted. "Oh, she'll love that," he said wryly. LiAnn had hated the blond ex-mob princess with a passion from the moment they'd met. Of course, the interest that the bubbly girl had shown in Mac hadn't helped matters. LiAnn was used to being the center of the team and Jackie threatened that position. Being forced to work with Jackie was one of the Director's favorite punishments for LiAnn on those rare occasions when she screwed up on a case. "It'll certainly encourage her to adapt fast." 

Then something occurred to him. "Speaking of LiAnn, where is she?" 

Mac blinked. "Um..." 

"Shit! She's panicking over Kindred and you left her alone in a room full of them? Bright move, Mac." 

He wasn't sure why he was quite so upset; maybe just some leftover anxiety after the conversation with Cash. But if LiAnn was as upset as Mac had said, leaving her alone was a bad move. 

Moving away from their private corner, Vic scanned the room. He didn't see LiAnn at first glance. Then he noticed a small knot on the other side of the room. Operating on instinct, he started to push his way through the crowd, heading for the group, Mac following him. 

They got some glares from people that they had to push past, but no one delayed them. As they got closer, Vic could hear LiAnn's voice, raised and with a slightly hysterical tinge to it. The last time he'd heard that had been several months before Mac had joined the team, when she'd had to defuse a bomb strapped to him without any outside help. She'd done the job, but she'd had the shakes for a couple days afterwards. She'd said it was because her _last_ lover had died in an explosion, or so she'd thought. 

Finally reaching the slowly growing crowd, Vic grabbed one shoulder and pulled its owner away, pushing himself through to LiAnn's side. 

LiAnn was squeezed against the wall by a large man who raised Vic's hackles. Based on his experiences that night, he would guess that the man was Brujah. Vic squeezed between the man and LiAnn. 

"I think the lady would like some room to breath," he said, bracing himself in case of attack. 

"Get lost, Gangrel," the man snarled. "Me and the little lady, we're having a private conversation." 

Vic glanced around at the small crowd, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. The man bristled in annoyance. "Scram, little boy," the man snarled. 

He shrugged. "Sure. Care to join me, partner?" he said, holding out his arm to LiAnn. She hesitated, then slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

"I'm not finished with her," the Brujah snarled. 

"Maybe, but I think she's finished with you. Go find someone else to bother." 

"You need to learn some manners, little boy. How about we step outside and I teach you some?" 

"How about you don't," a cold voice said behind him. The Brujah turned and Vic saw the Director walking towards them. The crowd parted in front of her and he could see fear on more than a few faces. 

"This doesn't concern you," the man said, blustering. She raised one eyebrow. 

"My people, my concern," she said gently. "Now, are you going to look elsewhere for your entertainment or do I need to have a talk with Jefferson?" 

Vic didn't know who Jefferson was, but the Brujah paled slightly. He glared at Vic and LiAnn, then stormed away. 

"Jefferson?" he asked the Director softly. 

"Prince of Phoenix," she said equally softly. Then her lips quirked into a smile. "I'm surprised you don't remember. I introduced you to him earlier." 

Vic snorted. "Along with half the room. Is this going to go on much longer? It's been a long night." Even he could hear the plaintive tone in his voice. 

Her expression softened. "Yes, I suppose it has. Well, the party will keep going until dawn, but I suppose we can leave now. Our bags have already been picked up and loaded in the car." 

"We aren't going back to Luna's?" Mac asked in surprise. 

"We have a private jet for the trip home and we'll be leaving right at sunset. I've arranged for rooms at the hotel nearest the airport." 

As she spoke, they drifted towards the front door. Luna met them there, Cash at his shoulder. 

"Well, it's certainly been an interesting convocation," Luna said with a smile, taking the Director's hands in his. "I hope you weren't too... inconvenienced by the results." 

She smiled back and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, it certainly wasn't what I planned on, but no. I'm quite pleased in fact." 

Behind Luna, Vic could see Cash and Mac whispering to each other. Then Cash kissed his partner and Vic felt that flash of jealousy again. He moved over to where they were standing and Cash smiled at him. 

"Remember what I said," Cash said, slipping him a small business card. Glancing down, Vic saw a phone-number on it and slid it into his jacket pocket. 

"I will," he replied. 

Cash leaned over and kissed him softly. "Be well, my Childe," he said seriously. "I expect to hear great things about you in the future." 

Vic swallowed around the large lump forming in his throat. "Thank you," he said, almost choking. It was stupid, he didn't really know the man, but he was going to miss him. 

"Time to go, boys and girls," the Director called. Vic squeezed Cash's hand and moved to follow her, Mac at his side and LiAnn right in front of him, just like always. It was raining heavily again, just like the night they'd arrived. It was an appropriate touch to end their visit to San Francisco. 

Vic sighed. He couldn't wait to get home. 

* * *

**Epilogue**

The end of their trip to San Francisco was almost anti-climactic. They checked into two hotel rooms not far from the Oakland airport for the day; Mac and Vic in one room, the girls in the other. By the time they reached their room, all Mac wanted was bed. Of course, having Vic to snuggle up against was nice, even if it was just snuggle. He was going to miss that when they got home. 

This trip had been a weird one all around. Of course, life had been weird since the day the Director had walked into his cell in Hong Kong and had coldly proceeded to blackmail him into working for her. Still, what other job could he have where he got to deal with psychotic beekeepers and mad geniuses in their rooftop lairs? Not to mention the organ smugglers and terrorist clowns. The mind just boggled. 

And if he had to admit it, he liked his life now. Sure, working for the Tangs was just as exciting at times—and the rewards were a hell of a lot better—but with the Agency, there was a cause. Well, he _thought_ there was a cause, even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was. And they didn't ask him to smuggle guns. 

But now that world had changed. Vampires were real and his boss was one of them, and now one of his partners was too. And his other partner had received a new trauma on top of an old one that had barely started to heal. As for him, he'd made a new friend and had his relationship with one of his partners change beyond recognition —for the better he thought. 

And once they got back to Toronto, he was going to have to go back to sleeping alone. At least Vic wasn't completely rejecting the idea of a relationship, but he _was_ determined to take things slow. And who knew, maybe the man was right. Mac had a tendency to fall into bed quickly. Maybe that was why he had such a long string of failed relationships behind him. 

On the other hand, after working together for more than two years, it wasn't like they were complete strangers. 

But if that was the way Vic wanted it, that was the way it was going to be. He'd prove to the man that this wasn't just an overwhelming lust for the man's admittedly gorgeous bod. He was going to prove that he had _some_ restraint. 

Besides, he was looking forward to the chance to seduce his partner all over again. 

Cash had recommended holding off until Vic got the training that the Director said she was going to arrange, though. It was a little strange, getting advice from a man who'd been basically a one night stand on how to build a more lasting relationship with another man, but if it would work, Mac would take advice from anyone, even Dobrinsky. And besides, as Vic's Sire, Cash probably had a pretty good idea on what would work. 

He was going to miss Cash. He might only have known the man for a few days, but he still felt a strange sort of kinship with him. They had a lot in common. Besides, the man really knew how to party, Mac thought with a grin. Like Vic, he had one of Cash's cards tucked inside his wallet, with instructions to call anytime, for advice or just to talk. He had the feeling he was going to need it. 

After the sun came up and Vic fell asleep, Mac left the room to find some breakfast. Vic might be able to live on a little bit of blood, but he needed something a little more substantial. Hopefully the hotel restaurant served Eggs Benedict. He had a craving. 

* * *

The phone rang, waking him from a sound sleep. Mac rolled over and grabbed it, cursing under his breath in Cantonese. "Yes?" he barked into the receiver. 

"This is your six PM wake-up call," an overly cheerful recorded voice said. "Have a pleasant evening." A dial tone grated painfully on his eardrums. 

"You too," he snapped at the phone before hanging up. He hadn't ordered a wake-up call, but he could guess who had. 

Still, since their flight was leaving at nine-thirty, that just gave him time to shower, shave, change and eat while Vic did the same. Since it wasn't quite yet sunset, he headed for the bathroom after calling up room service and ordering a ridiculously priced meal. 

By the time he emerged, towel-drying his hair, Vic was up and looking at least partly awake. "All yours," Mac said. 

Vic disappeared into the bathroom as a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Mac's dinner. Mac signed the receipt and found the cash for a tip, then dove in. The club-sandwich wasn't the greatest and the french fries were cold, but it was food and that was all he cared about. 

He was polishing off the last of it as Vic reappeared, looking fully awake. Mac held out his hand. "Dinner?" 

Amazing how casual it had become between them. Vic didn't even try to protest, although he kept it short and with no frills. Mac still ended up aroused by the feeling of the blood being slowly sucked from his veins, but refused to give in to his libido by jumping Vic's bones. 

But damn it was difficult. 

They actually managed to be dressed and packed by the time the Director knocked on their door for the trip to the airport. 

"Good evening, ladies," Mac said cheerfully as they headed for the elevator. "Sleep well?" 

LiAnn nodded curtly, although the circles under her eyes made a liar of her. He Director smiled. "Just fine, and you? I don't need to ask how _you_ slept, Victor." 

"I certainly hope I get over this sleeping all day before summer," Vic groused. "Fifteen hour naps would be a little ridiculous." 

"Oh, don't worry," she replied, patting his arms. "I'm sure that by then you won't be quite so much a slave to instinct. Still, you'll be very groggy. I'll make sure I don't assign you to anything that requires _too_ much thought during the day. I know, I'll give you Mac's assignments." 

Mac stuck out his tongue at her. She just looked amused. 

"Now," she said, changing gears, "I suggest you prepare yourself. The flight is just under eleven hours and you're going to want to feed during that time. Luckily, since it's an overnight flight, I'm sure that the two of you can deal with that without attracting attention. Make sure that you do," she added darkly. The 'or else' was pretty clear in her voice. 

In a way, it almost sounded kinky, having Vic feed from him in a public place without anyone knowing about it. 

That was another thing he was going to miss, the feeding. However, while he wasn't exactly a doctor, he knew that he could keep being Vic's sole food-source. He could already feel the affects of the continuous blood loss, even with Vic's diet being supplemented by bagged blood and blood wine. 

Then Mac glanced at LiAnn and sobered up. The expression on her face was one of fear. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, we'll let you know ahead of time so that you can go to the bathroom or something." Vic winced, but the relief on LiAnn's face was obvious. 

They arrived at the airport and went through the check-in process with remarkable speed. Mac had expected to be running to make their boarding call, but they actually had time to sit down and relax for a while before the first call for their flight was announced. 

"Enjoy yourselves, children," the Director said when first-class boarding was called. Just like the flight to San Francisco, she was flying first-class while the rest of them were flying coach. Of course. 

Finally, their boarding was called. This time, _unlike_ the flight down, LiAnn held back when they reached their seat. Mac exchanged glances with Vic and nodded towards the window seat. Vic slid in and Mac took the seat next to him. For the first time in their partnership, LiAnn _wasn't_ insisting on sitting between them. That was nice, but the reason for it wasn't. 

"What time are we supposed to land in Toronto?" Vic asked in a low undertone. 

Mac checked the tickets. "Just before five-thirty, Toronto time," he replied. "Why?" 

Vic shifted, obviously trying to find a comfortable position for his legs. Airline seats weren't designed for anyone over five feet. Mac had the same problem, but even worse since he was a little taller that Vic and longer in the legs. 

"Just checking. Don't want sunrise to come while we're still in the middle of a busy airport." 

"Don't worry. Sunrise isn't until nearly two hours after that. I'm sure that the Director will take care of making sure we're safely away before then." 

"I hope so," the older man muttered. 

What Mac was hoping that the in-flight movie was better than the one on the other flight. After sleeping days for most of the week, he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep at all, let alone in one of these torture devices masquerading as seats. And he had even lower expectations for the in-flight meals than he'd had for the hotel room service. 

Maybe he'd borrow one of those detective novels that Vic had been reading all week. Or maybe one of LiAnn's books, although her preference for Chinese romances weren't exactly his style. Anything to pass the time. 

Take-off was right on time, a first for Mac. Once they were in the air, he started to relax. It had been a long week, an exciting week, a terrifying week. 

But they'd survived the experience and they were going home. 

Home. 

What a wonderful word. 

* * *

Mac surprised himself by actually drifting off half-way through the movie. The rubber-chicken meal had been horrible, but he'd eaten the whole thing in anticipation of needing the fuel. 

"Mac." 

His name, whispered in his ear, woke him up quickly. He could hear the husky note in Vic's voice that already signaled to him that the other man was hungry. In fact, the more often Vic fed from him, the closer he felt to him, in many ways. Sometimes it almost felt like he could read the man's mind. 

Mac glanced around. The lights had been dimmed and everyone around them was asleep, even LiAnn. He decided not to wake her. If she wasn't awake to see, she couldn't be disturbed by Vic's feeding. 

He reached up and unbuttoned his shirt collar. Expecting this, he'd worn a black shirt, just in case a little blood got on it. "Pretend you've fallen asleep," he whispered. 

Vic picked up on his suggestion immediately; no matter what some people said, the man wasn't stupid. He let his head flop to the side, onto Mac's shoulder. Then Mac leaned forward and to the side a little. That way, Vic's face fell in the crook of his neck without looking too forced. He felt Vic's tongue swipe his neck a couple times in preparation, then his fangs sank in. 

Like earlier, Mac refused to let the feelings overwhelm him. First of all, someone had to keep an eye out for any interruptions from the attendants or other passengers. Secondly, while he wouldn't _mind_ joining the Mile-High club with Vic, he didn't think that the man, straight-laced as he still was, would go for it. Pity, though. 

Finally, he felt Vic's fangs withdrawing, followed a few more licks to close the puncture wounds. He could understand why books and movies made vampires so sexy; the feeling of fangs going in and out was reminiscent of sex, a different sort of penetration. 

By the time an attendant came to check on them, they were back in position, eyes shut as if they were sleeping. 

As he relaxed, Mac reached up to caress the pendant hanging around his neck. He wasn't sure why, but touching it reassured him. Perhaps it was because it was a gift from Vic. There was something about it that made him feel like everything was going to be all right. 

He leaned against Vic's shoulder and sighed. 

Only three hours left before landing. 

* * *

Mac was sitting in a forest glade beside a small pool, relaxing on a warm flat stone. The light coming through the leaves and reflecting off the water was unusual. Looking up, he could see that it was night, but one brighter than he'd ever seen before. The quarter moon, to his eyes, was brighter than the sun. And the colors! The colors were like nothing he'd ever seen before. 

Deciding to just accept it, Mac stretched out to bask in the moon- and star-light. He was naked, he noted idly, but it didn't bother him anymore than the strange light had. 

"Do you have any idea what you look like, lying there?" 

Mac turned his eyes and smiled as Vic emerged from the pool, equally naked and sparkling with water droplets. "I'll bite," he said, and they both laughed at the pun. 

Moving gracefully, like a cat, Vic pounced, stretching out over Mac. "Absolutely fuckable," he growled in a low, sexy voice, then claimed Mac's mouth in a deep kiss. 

Mac groaned and arched up into the damp body above his. This had to be the best feeling in the world. They were such a good match. 

Mac spread his legs and let Vic move into place between them. Thick fingers penetrated and stretched him until he was writhing in place, begging for more. 

Then Vic moved closer and... 

"He's not yours," a soft voice hissed. 

Both of the men were startled by the unexpected voice. The figure that stepped out from between the trees was indistinct, but definitely female. 

"You aren't welcome here," Vic snarled, getting to his feet, his erection still hard and proud between his legs. 

"Gangrel fool," the woman said. "He's going to be mine. Sooner or later..." 

Vic roared with anger and leapt forward, his shape blurring in mid- air until he was more cat than man. The woman roared just as loud and met him half-way. 

Blood was already flying as the two fought. Mac ran towards them, frantic with worry for his lover. And yet, for some reason he was also worried about the stranger. There was something familiar about her. Something he should know. 

Then he saw the talons aimed at his lover's neck and his heart stopped. 

"No!" 

* * *

"Mac. Mac!" 

Mac's eyes flew open and he drew in a deep, gasping breath. Vic's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him, and he latched onto it, reassuring himself that the man was real. 

"Vic," he said in relief, then paused. Why was he relieved? He reached up to brush the sweat from his forehead. 

"Are you all right? You were shouting in your sleep." 

"I was?" Mac blinked. "I don't remember." He glanced around the cabin. LiAnn and Vic both looked equally worried. The passengers nearest them just looked annoyed. An attendant was heading their way, but he waved her off. "Sorry 'bout that." 

"Must have been a doozy of a dream," Vic said in a forced light tone. "Good as the one where Jackie was the Director?" 

Mac frowned, then shook his head. Hard as he tried, he couldn't remember any details. Just a few quickly fading images. "I was in a forest glade at night, but that's all I can remember," he said apologetically 

"Don't worry. After what happened this week, I wouldn't be surprised if we _all_ had nightmares." They both carefully didn't look at LiAnn, who hadn't been sleeping very calmly on the flight either. 

Luckily, before they had to say anything else, the intercom came to life, announcing that they were about to land. 

They were home. 

* * *

The Director must have pulled more than a few strings. They were through customs and into a waiting car in almost no time at all. 

"Um... My car is in the long-term parking," Mac pointed out as they headed away from the airport. 

"Not anymore, it isn't," the Director replied. "It's at the office. You can pick it up there." 

"Couldn't you just drop me at home?" Vic said, already sounding tired as dawn approached. "I'll pick my truck up tonight." 

"Ah, but you don't know where home _is_." 

Vic frowned. "Of course I do," he protested. 

"No, you don't. Your things have already been moved," she told him. 

"What was wrong with my old place?" he asked suspiciously. They all knew that there were cameras and microphones in their apartments. What would Vic's place have _now_ in the way of surveillance? 

She gave him a disappointed look. "Do I _really_ deserve that tone of voice? There is nothing wrong with your old apartment. However, the new one has a bedroom _without_ windows. After all, we wouldn't want you to climb into bed one morning and forget to draw the drapes, would we? You wouldn't do me much good as dust." 

Mac winced at the blunt words. Across from him, Vic winced. "No, I guess not," he said softly. Mac could understand why he was upset. Vic had lived in that apartment for years, since the days when he'd been a cop. It was the last piece of his old, pre-Agency life. 

"Good. Besides, there's someone I want you to meet. After that, you can sleep at the office, since I doubt you'll have time to get home before dawn. Tonight, you can check out your new digs." 

"Great," Vic muttered. 

It was a little strange walking through the always empty hallways of the Agency headquarters in Toronto. So much had happened in the week since they'd last been there that it seemed like the place should be different. Instead, they were exactly the same; brightly lit, echoing and creepy. 

And coming towards them was Mac least-favorite tormenter, Dobrinsky. 

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," the man said cheerfully as he drew up even with them. 

"Don't you _ever_ sleep?" Mac snapped back. There was something about the man that had annoyed him from the day they met. Of course, it didn't help that the man was a sadist. He was also the person that the Director sent him to for training and punishment, the same way that she made LiAnn work with Jackie as a punishment. 

"No. I don't," was the simple reply. Then the black man turned to look at Vic and his eyebrows went up. Vic was staring back at him with an equally surprised expression. "Well, well, well. Look's like _someone_ had an interesting trip." 

"You're Kindred?" Vic said, his voice going up in shock. 

"Of course he is," the Director said, amusement in her voice. "Do you think I would have anything else for my assistant. He's Ventrue, of course." 

"Of course," Mac said weakly. He should have guessed. 

"Well, I suppose this explains the... person," Dobrinsky's usual smile faded as he spat the word, "waiting in your office." 

"Now, Dobrinsky. She does have her uses," the Director admonished. 

"Rarely." 

"And was everything moved?" 

Dobrinsky tossed a set of keys to Vic. "All done. Even the eight- track," he added with a condescending smile. Vic didn't reply, except with a small sneer. 

The man just laughed and walked away, shaking his head. Mac stuck out his tongue in the direction of the back of the man's head. The man hadn't said a word to him, but it was instinct. Besides, Dobrinsky had just insulted _his_ partner. 

Of course, just _owning_ an eight-track was an insult in Mac's books. 

"If you don't need me," LiAnn said, speaking up for the first time since they'd left the airport, "I think I'll go home." 

The Director stopped and turned to face LiAnn. She took the younger woman's chin in her hand and looked deep in her eyes. They stood that way for a moment, silent. 

"Fine," the Director said, suddenly letting go and stepping back. "I'll see you this evening." 

LiAnn left quickly, Vic staring after her. 

"Oh, don't worry, Victor. She'll get over it quickly, I promise." 

Vic exchanged glances with Mac. Neither one of them really believed that, but they didn't say anything. Then again, after what Cash had told him about the Ventrue Dominate ability, maybe she was right. Of course, that would imply that she was going to manipulate LiAnn into acceptance. 

But then again, she was always manipulating them. Why should this be any different? 

"Any other surprises in store?" Vic asked, tossing his new apartment key from hand to hand. 

"Surprises? Me? Whatever do you mean?" The innocent expression on her face didn't fool either of them in the least. 

"Like Dobrinsky for one. How many other Kindred are there around here? Are we the _only_ ones who didn't know?" 

"Not at all. In fact, most of the people you've worked with are perfectly human." 

"Most?" Mac jumped in. 

"Well, there are a few exceptions," she replied, scratching her head and staring at a blank wall. 

"Like who?" 

She hesitated a moment before answering. "Jackie." 

Both Mac and Vic blinked. "Jackie?" Mac almost squeaked. "Jackie is a..." 

"Malkavian." 

"A what?" 

"One of the other clans that you haven't met yet. They tend to be excellent information gatherers. Very insightful, in fact. Oh yes, and they are all quite insane." 

Mac glanced at Vic and shrugged. "That's Jackie, all right," he muttered under his breath. "Remind me to avoid her more often." 

"Great," Vic added. "Next you'll be saying that Nathan is a vampire too." 

The Director gave a lady-like snort. "Not likely. However, he is very, very useful, so I made him a ghoul." 

"A _what_?" Mac said. 

"A ghoul. A human who has tasted Kindred blood. It makes them more... controllable." 

"I thought that made them Kindred," Vic said. He sounded as confused as Mac felt. 

"No, that only makes them Kindred if they've been drained first. Otherwise, they just become a ghoul. Your teacher will explain all this." 

"My teacher?" 

"Yes. Actually, I called ahead. She should be waiting for us." 

With that, the Director pushed open the door to their usual briefing room. 

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, _summoning_ me? I'm not one of your lapdogs!" 

The woman waiting there was one Mac had never seen before. She was short, even shorter than Jackie, who was the shortest member of their team, and like Jackie, she was compact and muscular. Her hair was brown and very short, greased into sharp spikes, tipped in a rainbow of colors. She wore a motley outfit pieced together from scraps of leather, over a T-shirt that was more hole than cloth. 

But there was something strange about the shape of her eyes and her ears were more than a little pointed, although not as obviously as the Nosferatu he'd briefly met in the Haven's office. And it was hard to tell, but it almost looked like her ears were... hairy? 

"No," the Director said calmly, coming to a stop directly in front of the stranger. "However, you and yours live in this city on _my_ sufferance. I can withdraw my permission as quickly as I granted it." 

The woman snarled, but even though she didn't move a muscle, it seemed like she backed down. "What do you want," she snapped. 

"Meet Victor," the Director said, waving towards the man. "You are going to be his teacher." 

She glanced at Vic and her eyebrows went up. "You have _got_ to be joking," she said in disbelief. "You want me to train your little Caitiff? I don't _think_ so." 

The Director moved, so fast that Mac didn't even see. In a blink of an eye, she had the other woman by the throat. "You will do what I say, or else," she hissed. 

Then equally suddenly, she let go. The woman fell back, rubbing her throat. 

"Victor's Sire is Gangrel," the Director continued in a perfectly normal tone. "He needs training in the Gangrel Disciplines." 

"Couldn't his Sire do that?" 

"No." The Director didn't explain further. 

The two women stared at each other, one probing and the other not budging. Finally, the stranger turned to Vic. "Tonight. One hour after sunset. Meet me at the Toronto Zoo. Outside the big cat's area. Don't be late." 

She turned and stormed out. 

"That was Moira," the Director said in a wry tone as the door slammed shut. "She'd leader for the Gangrel here in town. She'll get you up to speed fast." 

"Assuming that she doesn't just kill me." 

"Oh, she knows better than to cross me," the Director said with a cold smile. "No, she'll do as she's told, or else." 

"Else what?" Mac asked out of morbid curiosity. 

The Director just looked at him and he shivered. Suddenly he didn't _want_ to know what 'or else' entailed. 

"Anyway," she continued, turning back to Vic. "She'll train you quickly, if only to get you out of her hair. What she has, that is." Her expression showed her distaste for the woman's colorful appearance, which was the pot calling the kettle black in Mac's books. 

"Great. A teacher who hates my guts and wants nothing to do with me," Vic muttered. "What could be better?" 

"She'll protect you, since I'll kill her if she doesn't," the Director said. "She'll drive you hard because she hates you. You need both, Victor. I suggest you get a good day's sleep. You'll need it." 

With that, she headed up the stairs to her private office, leaving them alone in the room. 

"Well," Mac said. He should head home to get some sleep too, but he was reluctant to leave. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to be seeing Vic for a while. Not until he finished this training, at least. 

Vic glanced around. "It's almost dawn," he finally said. "I should find a bed somewhere." 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

Mac thought for a moment, then grinned. Moving fast, before he could reconsider, he bit down hard on his tongue until he felt blood start to flow. It was going to hurt like hell later, but he didn't care. 

Then he grabbed Vic's face between his hands and kissed him hard, thrusting his bleeding tongue into the other man's mouth. 

Vic went stiff with surprise. Then he grabbed Mac back just as hard, sucking on his tongue, obviously tasting the blood. 

By the time they separated, they were both breathing hard. Mac felt like he was going to burst the seam of his pants and Vic's jeans looked to be in the same condition. 

But he wasn't going to take advantage of that. 

He smiled at his dazed partner. "I'll be waiting when you're ready," he said in a cocky voice. "Don't take too long." 

He turned and headed for the door, then paused. "Just remember, it doesn't have to be complicated to be real." 

And then he headed home. 

THE END of San Francisco Meetings   
1999 


	3. Book II: Dancing on Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.

**Dancing on Wire  
by Lianne Burwell **

Carpe Noctem Book Two 

  
**Chapter One**

Once upon a time, there'd been a brief period where Victor Mansfield had been in control of his own destiny.

Not when he was a kid, no. Growing up, he'd been kept firmly under his father's thumb. His father, a successful business man, had mapped out his son's life for him from an early age: He would graduate from high school at the top of his class, go to Queen's University for a degree in business management, then move into a vice-presidency in his father's company. Eventually he would marry the daughter of one or another of his father's business contracts, raise a couple kids of his own, preserving the Mansfield name. And eventually he would take over the company from his father.

Basically, his father wanted a clone, not a son. Too bad for him his son had different plans.

Sure, he'd graduated from high school, top of his class, right on schedule, but then he'd dropped the bombshell: He wasn't going to university or joining the family business, he was going to the police academy. His father had ranted and raved, then had thrown him out of the house. Vic had packed his bags, kissed his baby sister goodbye, then left without a word. He never saw his father again.

His mother had called on a regular basis at first, trying to change his mind, but Vic had ignored her pleas and eventually she had given up. He had thrown himself into his training and had graduated top of his class. He had hit the streets of Toronto, doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life: Stopping crooks who preyed on the weak.

And for a while, life was perfect. He loved his job, he had a great apartment and he fell hard for Stan, a fellow cop he'd met at the academy. They'd had to be discreet, of course, but life was good. For the first time in his life, Vic had been in control.

But that had only lasted a few years. Then Stan had convinced him to transfer over to the drug squad with him, and being in love, Vic had agreed. Only thing was, the squad had been dirty, and when he had refused to play ball, they had taken him out of the game.

In a flash, life had spiraled out of control. Faster than he would have believed possible, Vic had found himself behind bars, framed for drug trafficking. He had spent the next year dodging would-be rapists and monsters who wanted to amuse themselves with the disgraced cop.

And worst of all had been knowing that Stan had done nothing to stop it, had _helped_ them do it to him.

Then one day a woman had come to see him. She had offered him a way out. He could come work for her, doing the law enforcement that was part of his soul, but there was a catch. He would never again be a cop. Despite his attempts at bluster, he'd known he had little choice.

He had said yes.

Since that day, his life had been out of his control. The Agency controlled where he lived, what his hobbies were, what he did, even who he did it with. He knew that the Director had deliberately arranged things so that LiAnn would dump him. Perhaps it had been for the best. After all, if it had been that easy to drive them apart then they hadn't had much of a chance anyway.

It was about that time that he had started to give up on the idea of a permanent relationship. It just wasn't going to happen as long as the Agency controlled his life. But, oh how he wanted someone. Someone to share his life, someone to be there when he went to bed, when he woke up. He dreamt of it constantly. And as time went by, that dream had started, more and more, to wear the face of his other partner, Mac Ramsey, a man made commitment-shy by as many bad experiences as Vic.

Then, during a trip to San Francisco, life had changed irrevocably—again—and he had learned a new fact: The Agency didn't just control his life, it controlled his afterlife as well.

But he'd also learned that maybe his dreams weren't as impossible as he'd thought.

* * *

Vic hummed under his breath as he headed through the corridors of the Agency headquarters in Toronto. It was just after sunset on a beautiful early-spring evening and as usual, the place was deserted.

"Someone's cheerful tonight."

Vic grinned as he entered the Director's main briefing room. Mac was sitting alone at the table, a cocky grin on his face. He hadn't seen his partner in several weeks and it was good to see a friendly face.

"Why not? It's a gorgeous night and I don't have to deal with Moira tonight. In fact, I don't have to deal with her ever again. Trust me, Mac, if you get a choice, you don't want to be Gangrel." After San Francisco, they both knew that it was only a matter of time before the Director arranged Mac's Embrace, just like she'd _planned_ to arrange Vic's. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on your point of view—circumstances had taken care of it before she could.

Mac snorted. Moira was the Gangrel leader for the few members of the clan in Toronto. The Director had ordered her to train Vic in his new abilities, using threats to back up the order. To say that Moira had been upset would be an understatement, but the Director was _not_ going to let one of her agents be Caitiff— clanless.

The Gangrel clan didn't have enough of a presence in Toronto to command any power, let alone a seat in the Prince's council. They were there on the Prince's sufferance, and if they wanted to stay, they had to follow her orders. Vic had quickly learned that his sire's—Cash's—position in San Francisco was a rare one for the clan these days since they'd decided to go independent.

However, obeying the Prince didn't mean that Moira couldn't make his life hell, just as long as she taught him. She had done both with great skill.

Some of the basic skills had come quickly—surprising so, Moira had admitted once, then denied ever having said anything—such as seeing in the dark and growing the animal-like talons of the Kindred. He'd also found it easy to summon animals in the area and even understand their strange forms of communication, although he had the best rapport with cats.

But there were a few skills that still eluded him. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't manage to merge with earth like Moira could. She'd finally given up, saying that the first time he was stuck outside on a sunny day and weakened he would either figure it out or die; she didn't really care which. Vic just felt it was too much like being buried alive.

The other skill he'd had little success with was shape-shifting. Again, it seemed more a mental block than lack of ability. A part of him was scared that if he _did_ succeed in turning into an animal, he wouldn't be able to change back.

Moira also hadn't been shy about telling him just how unusual all this personal training was. Most Gangrel were Embraced, then abandoned to figure out all of this on their own. They would be watched and eventually brought into the clan if they didn't manage to get themselves killed first. She made no secret of the fact that she thought that all this hand-holding was a disgrace that would weaken him in the end. She also made it plain that she considered him Caitiff, even if he _did_ know his sire. Certainly, she wasn't going to acknowledge him as part of the Toronto clan.

Vic didn't much care.

"So that's it, you've learned everything you need to know?" Mac asked, breaking his train of thought.

Vic shrugged. "She said she's taught me everything that _can_ be taught and tossed me out last night. Told me to stay the hell away from her from now on." Vic grinned. That last injunction was one he had no problem with; he and the older Kindred got along like, well... cats and dogs. Moira's preferred shape was a wolf, while Vic's best attempt at shape-shifting had been definitely feline. And Moira's job—if you could call it that—was at the Toronto Zoo, so it wasn't like they were likely to ever run into each other. He hoped.

"Indeed. Well then, I suppose you're ready to go back to work."

Both Mac and Vic jumped at the unexpected voice behind them. They turned and found the Director watching them with an amused expression on her face. She moved over to her usual seat on the other side of the long conference table. She dropped the folder she was carrying in front of her seat with a bang, making them jump again.

"We have reports that a small farm about an hour north of Toronto is being used for the manufacture of a new designer drug," she said, sliding the folder towards them. The first item in it was a map, followed by the lab's report on the new drug, detailing its make-up and effects. It sounded pretty nasty from what Vic read. It provided incredible hallucinations, making it very popular, but was addictive from the first dose and inevitably fatal.

"The two of you are to go check out the farm. If you see signs that it _is_ being used for that purpose, you will simply report it. You will _not_ act against them. Is that understood, Mr. Ramsey?" She stared at the younger man pointedly.

"What? I can follow orders," Mac protested. Vic snorted, remembering all the times when Mac's enthusiasm—not to mention impatience—had led to trouble.

Mac finally sighed and nodded. "Fine. Yes, I understand. Okay?"

"Good. Now get going. And boys?" she called out as they headed for the door. "Try to be back before dawn."

* * *

Emerging into the cool night air, Vic took a deep, grateful breath. Indoor air had always seemed stuffy to him, but since his Embrace he'd found it almost choking in its deadness. Thankfully, his job allowed him to spend most of his time outdoors.

He started to head for his truck when Mac grabbed his arm and started to steer him towards his own car. "What's wrong with the truck?" Vic snapped, suddenly irritated. He _liked_ his truck. He certainly preferred it to the ostentatious thing that Mac insisted on driving. Besides, if they were going to farm country, a truck would be better camouflage.

"Nothing," Mac told him soothingly. "However, the truck doesn't have a trunk modified to let in plenty of air while still blocking out light. Just in case, you know."

Vic blinked in surprise. It wasn't a response he'd expected. "You let them modify your beloved car?"

Mac's eyes slid to the side in an 'I'm embarrassed or hiding something' look. "It was my idea," he mumbled.

Vic stopped in his tracks, completely thrown by the answer. He and Mac were friends—Hell, more than friends since San Francisco—but still, that was Mac's _car_. A classic... something; he'd never been big on car types. "Thanks," he said honestly. Of course, the thing had a tiny little trunk that would be unbelievably uncomfortably, but like they said, it's the thought that counts. Still, it was the little things like this that made him wonder if maybe there was a chance for him and Mac.

They'd slept together, during the trip to San Francisco. It wasn't exactly planned, or anything. After his Embrace, the Director had locked the two of them in a room for almost two days. She'd said that he had to learn control of the Hunger fast, and she had just the incentive: If he didn't, Mac was the one he would end up killing. That was unthinkable to Vic, so he'd controlled the Hunger. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that he'd _channeled_ it. He'd fed off Mac without killing him, but he'd also practically raped the younger man, even if Mac had cooperated enthusiastically. Mac may have been willing, but if he hadn't been, it wouldn't have changed anything.

It had taken Vic a while to deal with that after their return to Toronto.

Afterwards, Mac had suggested continuing as casual lovers, but Vic had been reluctant. He still wanted something permanent, and Mac had admitted that he wasn't really ready for the level of commitment that Vic was looking for.

However, Mac had pointed out that maybe they _shouldn't_ get that serious right away. He'd suggested taking it one day at a time until they were both sure. As he said, it didn't have to be _that_ complicated. Vic was wondering if maybe Mac was right, maybe he _did_ ask for too much, too fast. They would see. After his exposure to the Gangrel of Toronto and their loose, almost pack-like relationships, suddenly what he had with Mac was sounding more and more stable all the time.

* * *

But in the meantime they had a farm to check out. No longer protesting, Vic climbed into the passenger's seat and opened the glove compartment to see what CDs Mac had, hoping he'd find something worth listening to since there wasn't a chance in hell they'd be able to agree on a radio station. Inside, mixed in with the latest in the flash-in-the-pan dance bands, he was surprised to find a couple of his favorite blues albums.

Mac noticed what he was looking at and shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, if we're going to be using my car more often, I figured I should have _something_ you'd listen to. Just as long as I can listen to my music at least _part_ of the time. Besides, they're not bad," he added, looking embarrassed having to admit liking something older than a month.

"You've listened to them? Mac Ramsey actually listened to Muddy Waters? And the world didn't come to a sudden and explosive end?" Vic shook his head in amused disbelief.

"Hey, watch it or I'll toss them."

"Don't you dare," Vic said, sliding one of the CDs into the car stereo. Immediately, the sound of an un-amplified guitar filled the air. Vic sighed happily and leaned back in his seat. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem. But we listen to _my_ music too, right?"

"Right." If Mac was willing to make this gesture, the least he could do was reciprocate. Yeah, maybe they did have a chance. After all, compromise made a relationship. "So, what have you been up to for the last of couple months?" He hadn't seen either of his partners since their return to Toronto when the Director had handed him over to Moira and had told him not to come back until he was finished his training. He'd missed them, especially Mac.

Mac shrugged, keeping his eye on the road as they headed north on the 401. "Not much. Lots of surveillance and grunt work, really. Booooring," he drawled. "I get the feeling that the Director doesn't trust us with the juicy stuff if we don't have you around to be the voice of caution." Mac grinned at him.

"And LiAnn? How is she doing?"

Mac sighed. "Well, better, I suppose. She's still a little twitchy around anyone she knows is Kindred, but she works with them. The only one she doesn't have a problem with is the Director."

"Well, we already knew _she_ was a blood-sucking creature." They both laughed, even though they knew there was probably a bug in the car recording their conversation. "Seriously, though, she always got along with the Director. Teacher's pet."

"Anyway, being forced to work with Jackie for a couple of weeks took care of most of the problem. It's kind of hard to be scared of the Kindred and contemptuous of one of them at the same time."

"And you?"

"Well, Jackie still scares the shit out of me. Some of her come- ons these days#151;" Mac shuddered theatrically.

"Please, I don't want to know anything more." Vic could just imagine. Jackie flirted with everyone, male and female, and her old style of flirtation was bad enough. He could just imagine what it was like with someone who knew just what she _really_ was.

He'd met a couple other Malkavian clan members during his training and had discovered that the Director was right: the clan was completely loony-tunes. They were also practically psychic. There was one that had told him...

Well, he wasn't going to go there.

"So where is LiAnn tonight?"

Mac frowned. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen her for more than a week and the Director won't tell me where she was. She also wouldn't tell me where you live now, which is why I didn't drop by to see how you were doing."

Vic felt a tension he hadn't even realized was there relax. "I wondered about that," he admitted.

"Yeah, well I tried breaking into the Agency records to find the address, but there was just a note saying 'moved, see the Director or Dobrinsky for details.' Needless to say, I was _not_ going to do that."

Vic grinned. "I can just imagine what Dobrinsky would say. Then again, maybe he would have traded the info for a nibble?"

"Nah. It seems I'm not his type."

"What?" Blood was blood, Vic had found, and the blood type didn't matter.

"Well, I've been learning about the Kindred while you were gone. _That_ , the Director was willing to tell me about. Seems that the Ventrue tend to be very picky about who they feed from. For example the Director only feeds from people she's danced with."

Vic snorted. "You've got to be joking," he said in disbelief.

"Weird, huh? Anyway, Dobrinsky only feeds from car mechanics, if you can believe it. I guess it goes with that car collection of his."

"Or maybe he just likes the taste of motor oil." That made Mac laugh.

After that, they fell into an easy silence for the rest of the drive. Vic was a little surprised at that; he'd expected things to be a little edgier after everything that had happened, but it was like they hadn't just spent more than a month apart, let alone the change to Vic's... situation. Instead, Vic lost himself in the music, which Mac really _did_ seem to be enjoying, until they pulled to a stop.

Mac pulled out the map and a small flashlight to read it by. "We're about a mile from the farm," he said. "We should go on foot from here, so they don't hear us coming."

"Sounds good to me."

Vic got out of the car and drew a deep breath. The air here was so much clearer than in Toronto, although he could still smell the taint of pollution. From what he'd been told, there were few places left in the world that didn't have that taint. Someday he'd like the chance to see some of those places before they disappeared too.

But he could also smell the clean, healthy scent of growing things, along with the spoor of a variety of living creatures. The air felt... alive.

It was a clear night and the sky was full of stars. The moon, nearly full, was just above the horizon and rising. To Vic, it was as clear as day used to be. Even Mac shouldn't have too much trouble.

"I'll take point," he said. Mac nodded, after making sure that the car wasn't going to be obvious to anyone driving by. They both checked their guns—just because they were only supposed to case the place didn't mean that they couldn't run into trouble— and set off through the trees. The farm they were checking out was bordered on three sides by forest, no doubt chosen to keep any neighbors from becoming suspicious. However, it also gave anyone trying to sneak up on them plenty of cover, which was a good thing for Vic and Mac.

In the shade of the trees with their new leaves, the available light decreased dramatically. This wasn't a problem for Vic, but Mac had to turn on his flashlight in order to move quickly without breaking an ankle or his neck. Vic could see the light reflecting off the eyes of watching animals.

They were three-quarters of the way to the farm when Vic stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his head and sniffed the air.

"What is it?" Mac asked, clicking off his flashlight and scanning the surrounding woods, although he probably couldn't see a thing.

Vic waved him silent, listening. There no unusual sounds. Just the normal night noises of the woods, completely undisturbed by the intruders. Finally he shook his head. "Nothing. Sorry."

But he could have sworn he'd scented something. Something that shouldn't have been there. He just wasn't sure what it was.

* * *

They reached the farm, just before midnight. At that hour, a real farm should have been dark and silent, everyone asleep. Instead, the house and outbuildings were brightly lit and there were men moving around. Vic came to a stop at the edge of the woods and gestured for Mac to move parallel to him.

Already Vic could smell a heavy chemical smell coming from one of the barns. It was similar to what he'd been exposed to during his brief stint working the drug squad during raids on drug labs back in his days as a cop. Then again, it smelt slightly different. He wasn't sure if it was because they were making a different sort of drug or if it was due to his enhanced Kindred senses. As a result, he wanted to investigate a little closer before they headed back to Toronto.

Vic moved closer to the barn that the odor was coming from. His nose wrinkled. As he got closer, the stink became more and more overwhelming. It would be obvious to anyone, even a normal human. Across the central space, he could see Mac heading towards the farmhouse.

As he approached the barn, he could hear voices, all male and joking crudely. They complained about the late hours spent brewing whatever it was they were brewing and about not getting paid enough for it. They belched and scratched and generally behaved like pigs.

Suddenly, a low growl broke his concentration and he cursed himself for a fool. He'd seen the guard dogs, but they had all been asleep so he'd forgotten about them. Unfortunately, one of them had woken and was now prowling in his direction. Any second now, the beast was going to start barking, waking his fellows and alerting the men in the barn.

Vic took a deep breath and locked eyes with the beast. He growled deep in his throat, urging the dog to go back to his bed and to sleep. He hoped it would work. He didn't really communicate well with dogs.

He held his breath, concentrating hard. If this didn't work, he was going to have to kill the beast so that they could get away, which he didn't really want to do. For one thing, he didn't want to kill the animal just for doing its job. For another, a dead guard dog would alert the drug manufacturers that someone was checking them out.

He was just about to give up and just kill the dog when it whimpered slightly and turned and headed back the way it had come. It reached its fellows, turned three times and dropped to the ground, its eyes already closing. Vic breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Then he froze. For a moment, there was the same scent he'd smelt before.

Then it was gone again as the breeze shifted directions. This was beginning to bug him.

Deciding that they'd seen enough, Vic looked for his partner. His eyes went wide when he saw the man coming out of the farmhouse. He was going to have to talk to the man. Trust him to do something this risky.

They headed away from the buildings, back the way they'd come. Once they were well out of earshot, even of the dogs, Vic grabbed Mac's arm. "What the hell were you doing? You could have been caught!"

"Relax! I checked first to make sure that no one was moving around. I found an office and some records of materials and sales." Mac slipped a small camera out of his pocket. "The Director wanted some evidence, I got it. Don't worry, I put everything back where I found it. No one is going to notice."

"You better be right," Vic muttered. He wasn't really angry, he just wished that Mac wasn't quite so reckless. Although he had to admit that the young man had improved over time. The old Mac would have just walked up to the barn and asked the men inside what they were doing. He'd done it before, just because he was bored with surveillance.

Vic paused a moment to shudder at the memory of the contents of the van that they'd been watching that time. They'd been told that the thugs were smuggling guns. Instead, they'd been smuggling _lungs_.

They were nearly back to the car when Vic stopped. The wind had changed and the strange scent was back again, stronger this time. It was almost... floral. Like a perfume?

The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Suddenly he was sure that they were being watched.

"Vic?" Mac whispered, obviously worried.

Vic slipped his gun from his holster, but no matter how hard he scanned the surrounding woods, he couldn't see a thing.

Finally, he tapped Mac's arm. "I don't know what's going on, but I suggest we get the hell out of here."

They only had the chance to take two steps when there was the sound of a loud explosion behind them. Spinning in shock, they could see the glow of flames through the trees. It looked like every building on the farm had gone up.

"Shit! What the hell was that? Do we go back and check it out?"

Vic shook his head. His instincts were to run and run fast, but he refused to give in to the panic. "No. We head back to Toronto and report to the Director. She can decide what to do next."

They quickly reached the car and Vic paused before climbing in. The feeling that they were being watched was still strong. But whoever or whatever it was, they were good. Other than the scent and the feeling, he couldn't find a trace.

"Vic?"

Shaking his head, Vic climbed into the car. "Let's get out of here."

As they drove away, he rolled down the window to let in some fresh air and for a moment, he could have sworn he heard laughter.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

By the time they reached the Agency headquarters in Toronto, Mac was breathing a little easier. The investigation of the farm had not exactly gone as planned. 

First there was Vic's strange behavior. From almost the moment they'd arrived on-site, the man had been twitchy. Well, twitchier normal. Mac hadn't noticed anything, but Vic was convinced that they'd been watched. 

At the farm itself, everything had been by the book. They'd skulked around, seen that whatever the farm was being used for, it certainly _wasn't_ farming. Well, he couldn't be completely sure, never having spent any time on a real farm, but still, this one didn't look right. 

So, while Vic checked out the barn where the most activity had been, Mac had broken into the farmhouse. 

Actually, breaking in was the wrong term for it. The door had been unlocked and the papers had been strewn all over the desk in the small office off the kitchen. In fact, the most difficult part had been putting the mess back _exactly_ the way it had been after he had photographed everything. 

But he needn't have bothered. They'd been on the way back to the car when Vic had suddenly decided that they were being watched again. Even Mac had felt like there were eyes drilling into his back. Finally, Vic had suggested getting the hell out of there, and Mac was more than willing to go along with that plan. 

And then the farm blew up. 

* * *

"It... blew up?" 

The Director's eyebrows went up in disbelief. Mac fidgeted uneasily under her stare, but Vic was as cool as a cucumber. 

"Yes, it blew up." 

She paced for a moment, taping one fingernail against her lip. "Perhaps the workers made a mistake in the brewing process. Drug processing isn't exactly a safe occupation." 

Vic shook his head. "I doubt it. Their setup might not have been high-tech, but I saw nothing that looked like it was about to blow. Besides, I heard a series of explosions, too many to just be a chain reaction in the equipment. Someone rigged the place to blow." 

Mac blinked. He'd only heard one explosion, but he knew that Vic's ears were now sharper than his own, so he took the man at his word. 

"And," Vic continued, "we were being watched." 

That caught her attention. "By who?" 

"I don't know. All I know is that there was someone else out there." 

"And that someone blew up the farm without you noticing?" 

Vic shrugged. There was no way of knowing whether or not that was true or even possible. Again, Mac was trusting his partner on whether or not anyone had really been there at all. He considered himself a pretty observant guy, but he hadn't noticed anything to suggest that they'd been watched. 

The Director was looking distinctly peeved now. "So there's nothing that could lead us to the people behind this operation? Is that what you're saying?" 

"Not exactly," Mac said, raising his hand. For some reason, she always made him feel like a kid in school. He pulled the mini- camera from his pocket. "I photographed everything on the desk inside the house. I didn't exactly have the time to read anything, but there might be _something_ useful." 

She took the camera from him. "Very good, Mac. Not exactly what you were supposed to do, but fortunate." Then she reached out and pinched his ear. Hard. "Next time, don't take risks when you aren't supposed to." 

Rubbing his throbbing ear, Mac glared back at her. "It wasn't a risk. I checked to make sure that there was no one around before I went in." 

"Whatever. Give the film to Otto for developing. Then I suggest the two of you go home. It's been a long night and sunrise isn't long off. Be back this evening." 

Mac headed for the door, glad to have gotten off so lightly, but Vic paused. "What about LiAnn?" 

"What about her?" 

Vic rolled his eyes. "Where _is_ LiAnn? She is a part of this team, after all." 

The Director sighed theatrically. "LiAnn needed... time. She decided to go home to visit her family." 

Mac stared at her in disbelief. "That isn't funny." 

"It isn't intended to be." 

"They _sold_ her when she was twelve years old. To a brothel! Why would she want to visit them?" 

She shrugged. "She has issues. Many of those issues start with her family. I suggested that she needed to deal with them and her feelings about them. She'll be back in a few weeks." 

"Assuming that she doesn't get hauled in for murder," Mac muttered. 

Despite her cool exterior, LiAnn had a temper and he knew how she felt about what her family had done her. The few times she'd spoken of them, the hurt and anger had bled through, even though she would be the first to admit that she was better off because of what they had done. If they hadn't sold her, she would still be living in a dirt-poor village in China, probably married at sixteen and old before her time. 

Instead, when the Tangs had bought the brothel and Father had sent all the under-aged girls home, she'd picked his pocket, which got his attention. He'd taken her in and instead of the village, she'd had Hong Kong, an education, a new family. 

But deep inside was still the little girl who'd been handed over to the recruiters who scoured the villages of China looking for fodder for the brothels frequented by foreign businessmen. A little girl who still wanted to know 'why.' It was the same 'why' he'd had when his father had turned up out of the blue after being gone from his life for years. 

Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten his answer before the man had vanished again. 

Mac hoped she'd be all right. 

* * *

Report delivered, they headed for the parking lot and Mac fidgeted, wondering how to ask the question he wanted to ask. It was strange. Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to demand Vic's address. After all, they were partners. They needed to know how to get in touch with each other. 

But they weren't just partners anymore, and asking might be considered a come-on, which it wasn't. Well, mostly it wasn't. It might be considered a hint. 

Finally deciding to just go ahead and ask, Mac looked up to find Vic watching him with an amused expression. "I'm a little tired," the man offered. "Would you mind dropping me off at my place and picking me up again tonight? If it's not _too_ much trouble." 

"Sure," Mac said, grabbing the excuse. "You'll have to give me directions, though. Um... you don't think that the Director will mind, do you?" 

"Who cares?" 

Mac wasn't so sure about the bravado, but then again, she had to have expected that he would find out as soon as they started working together again. 

Then Mac laughed and shook his head as he headed for the car, Vic already there and waiting impatiently. He couldn't believe that _he_ of all people was getting worried about what the Director wanted. Before San Francisco, he would have just gone ahead and done it. Being on his own for the last month—minus both his partners—had obviously affected him, and now it was time to correct that. 

"You're right," he said, climbing behind the steering wheel. "Who cares. Now. How about some directions." 

* * *

As he pulled to a stop in front of the building, Mac felt a flash of uncertainty return. He wondered if inviting himself up would be pushing it a little too fast, since Vic had said he wanted to take it slow. But it had been a while, so you couldn't exactly call it _rushing_ things. 

And damnit, he wanted the man. 

The building was a bit of a surprise, though. It was only a few kilometers from his own apartment, a ten-minute drive at the most, and that was only because this area of Toronto had a ton of one-way streets. The suspicious part of his mind wondered if the Director had chosen it _because_ it would put them close together. It was a nice idea. It was an older building than his, but looked to be in good condition. Unlike his, this one even had balconies. It also bordered on a large park, something he knew was important to Gangrels, based on what the Director had told him. He would even bet that Vic's new place overlooked the park. 

The Director might be a manipulative bitch, but she did try to keep her people reasonably happy, if only because they worked better that way. 

"My spot is over there, if you want to come up and see the apartment," Vic said, matter-of-factly. 

Mac grinned. "Sure. Let's see if your sense of decorating style has improved any." He aimed for the indicated parking spot. 

They were silent on the ride up the elevator, old and creaking. Mac winced a little at the sound of metal on metal, but Vic just ignored it. After all, he'd had more than a month to get used to it. Unlike the elevator, the corridor it opened onto was clean, bright and well-lit. Vic led him to the end of the hallway and unlocked the several dead-bolts to open the apartment door. 

Unlike the exterior of the building, the apartment was pure modern, obviously recently re-modeled. At the same time, most of the furniture was familiar from Vic's old apartment. The wall of bookcases holding books, pictures and stereo, including the old eight-track player that his partner insisted on keeping, god only knew why. The sofa, the old dinette set in the corner, the pictures on the walls. 

Even the over-abundance of kitchen equipment that Vic had bought when he'd taken up cooking as a hobby was there. Mac wasn't sure why the man had kept those, since he didn't exactly eat any more. 

Mac hung up his jacket in the closet and prowled around, checking every corner, indulging his curiosity. Vic watched him with an amused expression, but didn't say anything, so Mac took it as an invitation to continue. 

The bedroom, as billed, was an interior room, with no windows to let in that pesky and potentially fatal sunlight. The bed was the same one he'd spent more than an hour in one night waiting for Vic to get home so that he could drag him into a caper with the Rivers family. Mac smiled to himself at the memory. 

The sheets were new, though. He ran an appreciative hand over them. Silk. He might have wondered if it was part of a seduction scene if it weren't obvious that they'd already been slept on. Either the Director had had all his sheets tossed and these left in their place or Vic was turning into a sensualist in his... afterlife. 

The bathroom was a typical bathroom, with a separate tub and shower. However, the towels were thick and fluffy, as luxurious as the sheets on the bed. Bath salts and oils sat on the ledge of the tub. 

"Do you approve?" Vic asked, only slightly sarcastic, as Mac headed back to the living room. The television was turned on to CNN—one of the few channels that wasn't showing infomercials at four in the morning. 

"Very nice. You're even developing some style. The sheets are a nice touch." 

"My old sheets... itched. Moira suggested the silk and she was right: They do feel better." 

"I'll bet," Mac said, grinning. 

* * *

"You hungry? I've got some stuff in the freezer that I can heat up, if you like." 

Mac blinked in surprise. "Why?" 

Vic shrugged. "I still like to cook," he said. "It's relaxing. Besides, I figured that someone would eat it eventually. Either you or LiAnn. Or I could always send it to the local food bank." 

"Okay. Thanks." 

Vic headed into the kitchen and pulled a container seemingly at random from the freezer. He stuck it in the microwave and started the machine whirring. 

"It'll take a while to defrost," he said apologetically. "I hope it's okay, though. I've been playing with a few new recipes. Authentic Chinese, stuff. Nothing raw or that had tentacles when it was still alive, though." 

The man looked embarrassed and Mac understood what he was really saying. It was sort of like Mac buying some of Vic's favorite blues albums for the car: Compromise. 

"I'm sure it will be fine," he assured his partner. Then he grinned. "And if it isn't, you can keep practicing. I'll eat it." 

Then a thought occurred to him. "What about you? I mean, you haven't had anything since we headed off to check out the farm." 

Vic turned back to the kitchen. "I've got some bagged stuff," he said. 

Mac grabbed his arm. "Hey, if you're going to feed me, the least I can do is feed you." 

"You don't have to..." Vic's voice trailed off, but the hunger in his eyes was obvious to Mac. 

"Please, let me?" Mac turned on the pleading eyes. It was silly really, but he liked having Vic feed from him. It wasn't _just_ because of the intense sexual feelings it provoked. He just liked knowing that he could do something this important for someone he cared about. 

The physical rush was just a _very_ nice bonus. 

Vic wavered a moment, then stepped in close, lifting his hand to run a gentle finger down Mac's neck, right over the big vein pulsing there. Mac shuddered and pressed up against Vic. It had been so long. How could he have gotten so addicted to a feeling he'd only experienced for a few days? 

Vic was licking his neck now. Mac hummed low in his throat in anticipation. He wrapped his arms around his partner, leaning against the hard muscled form. Already his knees were going weak and Vic hadn't even bit him yet. 

And then the fangs went in and the rush flooded through him, as perfect as he remembered. Vic was sucking and Mac felt that connection flare to life. Cash had told him that drinking a Kindred's blood formed a bond with that Kindred. He wondered if the reverse was true. 

When Vic finally pulled back, Mac found that they'd moved somehow while he wasn't noticing. He had a wall against his back and he was glad for the support. Vic lifted his head to meet his eyes and Mac found himself drowning in a green ocean. 

Not willing to hold back anymore, Mac dived in for a kiss. Vic's mouth was cool and perfect, lightly flavored with the coppery taste of Mac's blood. The kiss was also as perfect as he remembered, with none of the nose-bumping, tooth-scraping awkwardness that new lovers had. 

When they came up for air, Mac was breathing heavily. "Bed?" he suggested hopefully. 

Vic hesitated and Mac worried that maybe he was pressing too hard. Then he smiled that little-boy smile and Mac grinned back. Without a word, they headed for the bedroom. 

Quickly stripped and pressed back into the mattress, Mac rediscovered just how sinfully good silk felt against the skin. He loved silk shirts, but the silk sheets caressed every inch of him. The cool, sensuous touch was almost enough to distract him from the feeling of Vic pressing down on top of him. 

Yeah, right. 

As he ran his hands over Vic's back and sides, Mac could swear that Vic had lost weight since the last time. Either that or he was more toned than before, although he hadn't exactly been a slouch in the hard body department. Whatever the difference was, he felt great. 

And what he was doing felt great too. For the longest time they were both happy just to touch and kiss and reacquaint themselves with each other's bodies. 

Then Mac remembered that Vic had done one hell of a lot more exploring than he had last time, so he decided to even things up. He surged upwards and Vic allowed himself to be flipped over. Mac loomed above him, just admiring for a moment. Vic's sheets were a dark emerald green and his pale skin looked delicious against it. 

Mac lowered his head and started to nip at Vic's face, enjoying the little shivers it sent through the man. He nipped his way down, spending a long time on the man's neck. _That_ made the man go absolutely nuts, groaning and writhing underneath him. 

But it still wasn't enough. The man's chest called him; especially the nipples. They were small and rose-brown in a nearly hairless chest, and they stood up just begging for attention. He bent his head to lick one, then waited for the reaction. Michael had hated having his nipples played with—it was something only women should enjoy, he'd said—and his two male lovers since then had been more into fuck and suck, skip the foreplay, please. 

But Vic just moaned and arched up into the touch, so Mac went for it. 

It was a revelation. He'd thought that Vic's neck was sensitive, but playing with his nipples turned him into a madman, completely inarticulate but definitely appreciative. Mac licked, then sucked them until they looked swollen, then nipped at them gently. That got him a scream and nearly bucked off of the bed. 

Mac wanted to play a lot more with them, but Vic obviously had different ideas. He flipped them over again, landing on top of Mac hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Mac's protest was muffled by the man's mouth coming down on his, hard and hungry. 

Mac parted his legs in open invitation and let Vic land between them. Vic grinned at him, then reached into the bedside table for a tube of lubricant. It was half-empty and Mac felt a surge of jealousy, wondering who Vic had been playing with. Then he squashed it down. Whoever they were, they were out of the picture now. 

Vic squeezed a generous pool of lube into the palm of his hand, then tossed the tube aside, not even bothering to recap it. Much better than LiAnn, who would have complained because he squeezed the tube from the middle, let alone not putting the cap on. Of course, with LiAnn, the tube wouldn't have been necessary at all. 

The Vic reached between them and all thoughts of LiAnn vanished. Vic gathered up both their erections in one callused hand and started stroking. Mac closed his eyes and moaned, his hips thrusting up into the grasp. 

But then the touch was gone, along with the weight pressing down on him. Mac's eyes flew open as he groaned in protest. Then he groaned again, for very different reasons. 

Vic was poised above him, crouched directly over his cock. While he watched in disbelief, Vic held Mac's cock steady, centered himself, then slowly lowered himself onto it. 

"Shit!" was all that Mac could think of to say as he was engulfed. Vic's ass was tight and yielding and ever so slightly cool. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Then Vic started moving and he felt like the top of his head was going to blow off. Sex had _never_ been this intense before in his life. 

Only one thing would make it more intense. 

Immediately, as if Vic could read his mind, his wrist was seized and raised to Vic's lips. Wicked green eyes grinned at him as Vic slowly licked the vein, then bit down, never pausing in his steady rise and fall, milking Mac's cock. 

The rush hit him again and he screamed, arching upwards, embedding himself as far inside Vic as he could get. It was like a double orgasm, pumping out of both his cock and his wrist. 

And then everything went black. 

* * *

A distant ping woke him, some time later. A glance at the glowing numbers on the clock radio next to the bed told him that he couldn't have been out for very long. Long enough for someone to clean him up, at least. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and groaned. He felt... He felt better than he had in weeks. 

"Awake yet?" 

Mac looked over at the doorway. Vic was standing there in a white bathrobe, holding a tray. He could see the steam rising from the plate on it. 

"Breakfast in bed? For me? Vic, you shouldn't have." 

"Yeah, well, it was finished defrosting so it was either heat it up or throw it out. But if you don't want it..." He turned away. 

"Don't even think about it," Mac said, sitting up a little straighter. His stomach was growling so loudly that not only could Vic hear it, the people in the next apartment could probably hear it. He didn't care _how_ bad Vic's attempt at real cooking was, he'd eat it. 

Vic grinned and placed the tray in his lap, then sat back and watched. 

It didn't look great, but the aroma was fantastic. It was some sort of basic stir fry with vegetables and tofu on noodles in an oyster sauce. Mac picked up the lacquered chopsticks sitting next to the plate (chopsticks? Vic?) and picked up a piece of carrot and popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly. 

Vic was watching him expectantly, with only a hint of uncertainty. Mac closed his eyes and considered the taste. 

Then he grinned and picked up the plate, his chopsticks moving fast. Vic's expression was one of satisfaction as Mac stuffed his face. 

"So?" 

"Vic, you _have_ been practicing," Mac mumbled around a mouthful. "This is _good_." 

"Yeah, well a stir-fry doesn't take a lot of skill." Still, he sounded pleased. 

Mac emptied the plate in short order and gave serious consideration to licking it clean. He was still hungry, but at least his stomach wasn't trying to wrap itself around his spine anymore. 

By the time they'd cleaned up, Mac deciding to do his part and wash the dishes he'd used, the sun was coming up and Vic was looking a little droopy. Mac herded him through a quick shower, then put him to bed. He found that a sleepy Vic could be a fun Vic as he cleaned and dried the man, then tucked him in. 

He crawled in next to Vic, deciding to get a little quality cuddling time in. He hadn't actually slept with anyone since LiAnn, choosing instead to leave and head to his own apartment and bed, and even she wasn't much into cuddling. Now that he could, he was going to take advantage of it. 

"You going to be here when I wake up?" Vic mumbled, his eyes already shut. 

"Probably not," Mac answered. "I do need to get out this afternoon to do some things. But I'll be by at sunset to pick you up." 

"'Kay. Keys with the green tag on the hook next to the door are yours." 

That caught Mac off-guard. "You're giving me a key to your apartment? You never did before." 

"Yeah, well if you need to get a hold of me during the day, I don't know that a phone ringing would wake me up. You might have to come in person to do that." 

Mac shrugged. "I could always pick the lock." 

"I know. You've done it before," was the wry, if sleepy response. "Easier to just give you the key." 

"Faster, too." 

"Hmmm..." 

Mac glanced down at the man and his smile turned fond. Vic was out like a light. 

He wrapped himself around the sleeping man and shut his eyes, wanting to get a few hours of sleep too. Amazing how right this felt, he thought to himself as he drifted off. 

Maybe white picket fences weren't as scary a thought as it had been before. 

* * *

Mac woke at about one in the afternoon. Careful not to disturb Vic, he found his clothes, neatly piled on the sofa in the living room where he'd put them before they'd gone to bed, got dressed and closed the apartment door behind him softly. He locked it and tossed the keys in his hand a couple times before slipping them into his pocket. 

The day was overcast and damp, the wind chilling him. It wasn't actually raining, but it had earlier and it was certainly going to again before the day was out. Mac shivered and pulled the collar of his jacket up. It was a far cry from the pleasant, almost summer weather of the day before. 

He headed for his car, making a mental list of the things he needed to do before coming back to pick up Vic. He needed to pick up his dry cleaning, buy some groceries for himself and maybe a few for Vic's place. Unlocking the car door, he thought he might even bring over a few clothes to keep there, in case he stayed over the full day in the future. Worst thing that could happen was that Vic would say no, and after that morning, he didn't think _that_ was very likely. 

Before he could get into the car, he froze. For a moment, it felt like every hair on his body—and there was a lot of it—was standing on end. 

He stood up straight, twisting to search the area. Nothing. 

But the feeling didn't go away. He could swear that someone was watching him. It reminded him of Vic's insistence that someone had been watching them the night before, out at the farm. Maybe it was the same someone. Except that meant that the person had followed them all the way back to town and the Agency, then to Vic's place, which was ridiculous. 

Bit by bit, the watched feeling faded, then finally disappeared. All Mac saw was a twitch in the curtains at a house across the street from the apartment building, backing onto the park. 

Mac shook his head ruefully. Just a nosy neighbor. He was jumping at shadows. 

But as he drove away, he noticed the curtains move again and felt a chill. After the last few years, he couldn't help wondering if maybe there was more to it. 

* * *

**Chapter Three**

When Vic woke, he was alone in the large bed. It wasn't very surprising—the day was too long to expect Mac to stick around while he was comatose—but he was still a little disappointed. The younger man gave a good cuddle. 

But Mac would be back soon to pick him up, so he didn't have time to lay about in bed. Of course, that thought _did_ have some good points, but it would get them to work late, and that was _not_ a good idea. Even if the Director didn't punish them, she'd never let them live it down. 

So he got up and headed for the shower. He didn't dawdle, washing thoroughly, but quickly. He brushed his teeth and checked to make sure that he didn't need to shave yet. One side-effect of being Kindred was that his hair had slowed down its growth. As a result, he only needed to shave every week or so. It was a good thing he didn't have any real desire to grow a thick beard. 

Heading back to the bedroom, he took a deep breath and grimaced. While the thick scent of sex had been intoxicating when he'd gone to sleep that morning, after a full day it was just... stale. Wrinkling his nose, he stripped the bed, making plans for a trip to the laundry room. Fresh sheets from the closet and the bed was made. Then he pulled on jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. 

A baggie of blood from the fridge was 'breakfast', although after his feeding from Mac the night before left it tasting rather... flat. There was no life to it, no sense of the person behind it. He wondered briefly—yet again—where the Director got the supply from. Did the Agency run a blood bank somewhere to keep the city Kindred supplied? Or were Agency support staff expected to provide the nourishment for their boss and her select few? 

Vic shrugged. Knowing the woman, he probably didn't want to know. 

Once he finished, he started strapping on his various guns and other weapons. After years of working for the Agency, he felt naked without them. While on the job, he never went anywhere without at least three guns secreted around his body; something that saved his life and the lives of his partners on more than one occasion. 

He was pulling his favorite leather jacket on when there was a knock at the door. He pulled it open and found Mac leaning against the frame, doing his best to look cool and nonchalant. It was something he did very endearingly. 

The younger man was wearing his favorite look; black pants and jacket with a white dress shirt open low enough to show some of his thick pelt of chest hair. He looked thoroughly edible, and if it weren't for the fact that they were already going to be late, Vic would have dragged him to the bedroom to do just that. Not to mention that the man's careful grooming always made him want to mess him up. 

He was also secretly pleased to see that Mac was also wearing the pendant that he'd bought him in San Francisco, just before everything had changed for them. It was just a pendant, and not a very valuable one, but it made him feel... appreciated. 

Come to think of it, Mac had been wearing it the night before, although he'd been more interested in other things about his partner to notice. Vic felt his cock twitch at the memory, and reminded himself again that they didn't have time. 

"You know," he said conversationally as he moved past Mac, stopping only long enough to lock the door behind himself, "I gave you a key to the place for a reason." 

"Well, you never know. You might have had company." 

The tone was teasing, but Vic could hear the slight hesitance in Mac's voice and grinned. "You mean you couldn't pose as nicely if you let yourself in," he said, reassuring Mac in a slightly oblique way. 

"Busted," Mac said, his grin a little easier. 

"We better move our butts, though," Vic said, heading for the stairs, "or the Director is going to have them in slings for being late." 

"Oooooh, kinky! Think she'd take us to the Caligula to do it?" 

Vic snorted. "More likely she'd hand us over to Dobrinsky to do it." 

"Ouch. In that case, let's get a move on." 

* * *

The Director was waiting for them when they arrived. She frowned, but didn't seem _too_ upset by the fact that they had still ended up being late. Besides, it was only by twenty minutes or so. 

"Glad you could join us," she said without heat, obviously using the royal we. "The reports are in on the farm explosion." 

Vic took his seat and Mac the one next to him. "And?" 

"The Agency team finished their examination before the OPP arrived. Every building had at least four bombs—seven in the case of the main house—all the latest in high-tech and carefully concealed. The men running the lab wouldn't have noticed them." 

"So what set them off? Timer?" Mac asked. 

The Director shook her head. "No. Radio control. Someone, less that a mile away from the farm set them all off, almost simultaneously." 

Vic hissed under his breath, and by the glance Mac shot him, he knew that the other man was thinking the same thing. 

"Yes, your mysterious watcher, no doubt," the Director said. 

"Yeah, but who is she?" 

"She?" the Director said, one eyebrow going up. She leaned back against her desk, arms crossed over her chest. Vic was a little surprised at his own comment too. His eyes narrowed as he considered what had made him say that. 

"When we were being watched," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I smelled something light and slightly floral. A fragrance. Perfume, maybe." 

"And that does imply female, doesn't it. Well, anyway, thanks to Mac's little info raid _before_ the big bang, we've linked the operation at the farm to one Jonathon Ramirez." 

She picked up a control and pointed at the screen set in one wall. A man's image appeared. He was heavy-set, with thick jowls. His black hair was almost greasy and very carefully done. His suit was Armani, and yet he managed to make it look like it had come off the rack, with no adjustments to make it fit better. He looked like a drug-lord wannabe. Vic wasn't impressed. 

"I wonder who he thinks _he's_ impressing," Mac muttered under his breath, echoing Vic's own thoughts. 

"The local drug community," the Director replied, pointing out—in case he'd forgotten—that Kindred had sharper hearing than the average human. "Mr. Ramirez arrived two months ago from Florida and has been quickly establishing himself as _the_ supplier of illegal drugs in town. Competitors have had unfortunate accidents and incidents that left them without product, and in at least two cases, without heads. Literally." 

She clicked a control and the image of Ramirez was replaced with the image of another man. This one was black, dressed in blue jeans and a jacket that was a motley of colors. 

Other than that, it was hard to tell anything about him, since his head was gone. In fact, from the look of what was left of the guys neck, his head had been twisted off. Next to him, Mac looked decidedly green. 

Vic looked a little closer. After a moment, he turned to meet the Director's eyes. "Kindred?" 

She nodded. "Or a werewolf, possibly," she said thoughtfully. 

"Werewolves?" Mac said, his voice rising to a squeak. 

"I doubt it," Vic said, considering the suggestion. "After all, they rarely go anywhere near cities if they can at all help it, from what Moira told me." 

"True," the Director said. "However, it _has_ happened, especially if they are fighting for territory. And there is always the occasional pack outcast who becomes a mercenary. However, I do agree that it is unlikely. Kindred is a far more likely answer." 

"Werewolves?" Mac hissed in Vic's direction when no one responded to his original squeak. 

"I'll explain later," Vic said in an undertone. "So now what?" he asked, raising his voice again. 

"Find Ramirez and shut down his operation. More importantly, find his pet killer. Whoever it may be, they're risking the Masquerade." And if it was a Kindred, the penalty for that was True Death, Vic reminded himself with a shiver. 

"Find him? Do we get anything to go on besides a name?" Mac said sarcastically. 

The Director glared at him, then slid a file folder across the table to them. "If you need any more information, talk to Nathan." She headed for the door, then stopped and turned around. "And boys, do try to keep your minds on the job. I would hate to have to separate you." 

"Yes, ma'am," was the subdued response from both men as she disappeared from view. 

Mac turned to Vic as soon as she was gone. "So, what have we got?" 

Vic shuffled through the papers in the folder. "Not a hell of a lot. One condo in Forest Hill, a dance club#151;" 

"Really? Which one?" He could see Mac perking up. 

"Um... De Plata Lobo." Vic knew that 'lobo' meant wolf, but wasn't sure about the rest. 

"The Silver Wolf? I've heard of it, but I've never been in. Latin stuff is more the Director's thing, from what LiAnn tells me." 

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Vic looked up, a little confused. 

"The Nicholas Love case. While we were locked up at my place with Dobrinsky, they went to meet an informant at Salsa Night at the Lubianka." Mac snorted. "The Director dressed LiAnn up in a men's suit with a penciled on mustache and took her as her date." 

The image made Vic snicker too. Then he frowned. "There's no Salsa Night and the Lubianka," he said. 

Mac shrugged. "There is when the Director _says_ there is," he replied. "Any way, De Plata Lobo is one of those places that plays Selena and Ricky Martin and other over-hyped Latin types. Not my style." 

"Well," Vic said, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe you should _make_ it your style." 

Mac glared at him, then rolled his eyes. "What are you looking for?" 

"Oh, I don't know. This," he said, pointing to the paper in front of him, "says that the man probably runs most of his business from the club's upstairs offices. Might be something interesting in the safe, assuming that you can get into it." 

Mac bristled. "Of course I can. I've never met a safe that I _couldn't_ get into." 

Vic suppressed a grin. In some ways, his partner was _so_ easy. "We'll see," was all he said, ignoring the insulted look that Mac gave him. 

"Well, if we're going clubbing tonight, we better find something a little more appropriate to wear," Mac said, getting to his feet. 

"What 'we', kemosabe?" 

Mac turned his big eyes on Vic. "You wouldn't make me go alone, would you? I need someone to watch my back. Someone to#151;" 

"Someone to protect you from the underage and underdressed teenyboppers?" 

Mac grinned. "Something like that. So, are we going or aren't we?" 

Vic rolled his eyes, resigning himself to a night of loud music and too many people in an enclosed space. "We're going," he said and let Mac lead the way to the clothing department to find something that would let them blend in. 

* * *

They could already hear the music from a block away, the heavy beat making windows rattle. Vic was a little surprised that the neighbors hadn't called to complain about the noise. On the other hand, there probably weren't many neighbors around, he supposed. They were right on the edge of one of the industrial areas of town. From the look of it, the building was a converted warehouse or factory. 

And despite Mac's put-downs, the place was obviously popular. They'd had to park several blocks away, and considering the area of town, Mac hadn't objected to taking Vic's truck. Vic just hoped that it would be in one piece and where they left it when they were ready to head home. 

The bouncer at the door gave them a sharp look before letting them in. Glancing around the dance floor, Vic quickly understood why. While the crowd was reasonably ethnically diverse, the average age was maybe twenty. Even Mac looked a little too old for the place. 

Then he noticed the few that _were_ older. Other than the bartenders—who looked like they were being more than a little lax about checking for ids— there were a scattering of middle-aged men, mostly around the edge of the room. It only took Vic a minute to pick them all out, not to mention the bulges of concealed weapons. At least he and Mac were better at concealing weapons than these shmucks. 

And as quickly as he identified them, he was able to tell that they weren't Kindred. They might be werewolf, but he'd never met one, so he didn't know how to recognize one. Still, the name of the club was... suggestive. 

"Vic, you look like a cop," Mac said, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the music. "We get a drink and dance for a while until they stop watching us. Got it?" 

Vic snorted. "What, doesn't my outfit do the job?" He gestured at the black leather pants tight enough to be a second skin and the shirt of shiny emerald green. 

Mac's gaze swept down his body and back up. "It does the job for me," he said, his voice gone husky. Vic rolled his eyes. 

"Whatever. Drinks?" 

By the time they made it through the crowd around the bar, Vic _needed_ a drink. "Whatever's on tap," he shouted to the bartender, deciding not to play twenty-questions with the man over what was available. Mac, on the other hand, ordered something in perfect Spanish that sounded complicated. 

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish," Vic said as they moved away from the bar with their drinks. 

"I have a _lot_ of hidden talents," was the purred reply. "Seriously, though, Father had business around the world. He made sure that we were _all_ multi-lingual." 

"How many languages _do_ you speak?" Vic asked, intrigued. 

"You'll just have to find out, won't you?" 

He could tell that Mac was just itching to continue with the mildly suggestive conversation, but Vic refused to give in: They were there to do a job and he didn't want to face the Director and say that they didn't do it because they were flirting. She'd been scary enough back when she'd just been his boss. Now that she was his _Prince_ , she was twice as scary. 

Some girl who didn't look old enough to be out alone, let alone this late at night, sidled up to them and asked Mac to dance. The younger man glanced at him to make sure it was okay before he took the invitation. 

Vic watched them move out onto the crowded dance floor and start gyrating in the way that was popular these days and felt old. In his day—God, did he just think that?—dancing with someone implied that you were touching them. These two weren't even _looking_ at each other. 

But he was also a touch jealous. No one looked twice at the two dancing together, but if it were him and Mac, they'd probably have a crowd ready to kick their asses within a minute. Canada wasn't a bad place to live when you were in a gay relationship, but the types here didn't look too forgiving, despite their youth. 

Just as well that no one seemed interested in dancing with _him_ , though, since he definitely wasn't up to those sorts of moves. 

But he was drawing a different sort of attention. Some of the hard men that he'd noticed coming in had moved to bracket him. They weren't making any hostile moves, but they were making no secret of the fact that they were watching him. Considering what their boss did for a living—not to mention what had happened to their drug production setup the night before—it wasn't very surprising. 

But the attention did have its plus side: If they were focused on _him_ , then Mac could sneak upstairs. He hoped. 

A glance around the dance floor told him that his partner had made his move. Mac was nowhere to be seen or sensed. The younger man favored an unusual cologne, and Vic's Kindred sense of smell could easily pick it up. The only traces he found were rapidly fading, indicating that he'd left the room. 

Then Vic frowned. There was another fragrance, one both strange and familiar. It was the same fragrance he'd scented the night before in the woods outside the farm. 

Vic turned to scan the room again, looking for the source of the fragrance, but it was fading. Like Mac, whoever it was had left the room. He hoped that it wasn't going to be a problem for the younger man. 

"Can I help you?" 

The sarcastically drawled question drew Vic back to what he was supposed to be doing. He cursed himself for letting himself get so distracted that one of the hard men was able to sneak up on him. 

He looked the man up and down. "I doubt it," he said with more than a touch of disdain, a plan starting to occur to him. "I've got a message for Ramirez." 

The man's eyes narrowed. One of his hands twitched, like he was restraining an urge to go for his gun. "Fine. I'll pass it on." He waited expectantly. 

Vic snorted. "I _don't_ deal with underlings," he said, easily slipping into the sort of underworld persona he'd used often in his undercover days with vice. 

"Well, too bad. Mr. Ramirez doesn't deal with street punks." 

Vic smiled coldly and let his Kindred side out, just a little. It wasn't much; just a flash of silver in the eyes, a hint of menace. The turkey probably wouldn't even notice consciously. 

Sub-consciously, on the other hand, he definitely noticed. He paled, no doubt realizing that he was in the presence of very nasty predator. 

"Mr. Ramirez isn't here right now," the thug said, beads of sweat forming on his brow. It was obvious to Vic that the man was lying, but he didn't press. 

"Fine. Give him this number," Vic pulled a pen from his pocket and in a flash of mischievousness, he wrote his cell phone number on the back of the guy's hand. It was more like something Mac would do, although the younger man probably would have written it on the moron's forehead. 

The thug looked at his hand a grimaced. "Fine. Is there a name to go with the number?" he asked, showing some pretty impressive self-restraint. 

"Mansfield." 

"All right. Consider your message delivered. Now, get lost." 

Vic smirked a little. "What, can't I enjoy the music?" 

"I don't think it's your style." 

"Finish my drink?" 

The man glared at him. Amused, Vic quickly tossed back the last of his beer. 

"It's been a pleasure," he said sarcastically and headed for the door. He could meet Mac outside just as easily. 

Outside the club, he headed around the corner, then pulled out a miniaturized headset from his pocket. An ear piece on a wire went in the ear, and a mini microphone adhered to his throat to pick up the vibrations of his throat. A last wire ran inside his jacket to a small battery pack. Altogether, he could wrap his fist around the entire package and have none of it show. 

"Mac," he whispered, hoping his partner had remembered to put on his _own_ headset. 

Silence for a moment, then, "Here," at a barely audible level. 

"I've been ejected. I'll meet you at the truck." 

"'Kay. Give me a half-hour, max." 

"Got it." 

Instead of heading straight back to the truck, Vic decided to do a bit of scouting first. 

Now that he thought about it, his off-the-cuff plan was looking better and better all the time. If he presented himself as a rival supplier, got on Ramirez's bad side, then they wouldn't have to go looking for the man's pet killer, as the Director had put it; he or she would be looking for Vic. They would be able to set a trap. 

Of course there were always risks to that sort of plan. Maybe Ramirez wouldn't fall for it—although based on his files, Vic would bet that he would. Maybe his killer _would_ turn out to be Kindred and would either sense the trap or be too old and too strong for him to fight back against. Still, it was the fastest way they had to meet the Director's orders. 

By this point in his musings, he was in the back alley, behind the club. The light was low, allowing him to keep to the shadows. With night-vision, he could easily see the thug keeping watch outside the back entrance. Ramirez might not be the brightest criminal Vic had ever gone up against, but he wasn't completely stupid. 

There was a bright flare as the man lit a cigarette. Vic wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent of tobacco. Okay, maybe the guy _wasn't_ a guard, just a moron on a smoke break. Then he paused. Once more, that perfume. He scanned the alley, but whoever it was, she wasn't to be seen or felt. 

This was getting damned frustrating, he thought, growling softly to himself. He didn't know who this person was, or what her interest in Ramirez was, but she better not get in their way. 

With that thought, he headed back the way he came to wait for Mac at the truck. 

* * *

**Chapter Four**

The music might not have been to Mac's normal tastes, but it had a good strong beat to dance to. He followed the girl who had invited him to dance out onto the floor, already moving to that beat. She turned around with a big smile and started to move her hips, arms high above her head, knees bent. As she danced, she flirted with not just her eyes but her whole body. 

She was a cute kid, but Mac was a little shocked to find that he thought of her as just that: A kid. 

God, he was getting _old_! Glancing around as he danced, he realized that he was probably the oldest person on the floor. The few people older in the building _weren't_ there to dance. 

Of course, neither was he, but still... 

He had griped at his last birthday about the fact that he'd moved into an older age bracket—a fact that Dobrinsky had delighted in pointing out every chance that he got—but this was the first time that it had really been hammered home. He was so used to working with and against people who were older than himself that he didn't really notice that he was aging too. The next thing you knew, he was going to start finding white strands in his hair. Either that or losing it. 

Then again, maybe not. After all, Vic wasn't going to age anymore. From what she'd said, the Director intended the same for him and LiAnn as well. Mac let his eyes drift over to his lover briefly and considered that idea. 

Vic had adjusted to being a vampire pretty well, and he'd had no preparation for it. Mac had the feeling that the Director had no intention of letting _his_ Embrace be quite as abrupt, or random. 

But did he really want to be a vampire? Assuming he was given a choice, of course. 

He knew what it was like to be on one side of the equation; human blood source to a vampire. It was incredible, like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and he couldn't help being curious about what it was like on the other end. 

Of course, there were the drawbacks. No sunlight, for one. Well, at least not for a few decades. Mac paused and frowned. What about Jackie? He'd seen _her_ outside in daylight. Did that mean she'd been Embraced _after_ being drafted by the Agency? The Director was a different matter, since she was... older. Just how old, she refused to say, but old enough to have built some immunity. Plus there was that protective makeup stuff she'd mentioned to Cash. 

The other potential drawback of what clan she picked to Embrace him. Every clan had its idiosyncrasies and its rivalries, he'd learned. What if he ended up in a clan that was instinctively hostile to the Gangrel? Cash had lost a lover when she was Embraced Brujah. He would hate to lose Vic the same way. 

He shook his head. Surely she wouldn't do something like _that_ to them. 

Well, whatever happened, now was not the time to be worrying about it. He had a job to do and it was time he did it. 

He drifted away from his dance partner—something that was easy to do in the crowded room. He could see the stairs heading up to the offices, not far from the restrooms, so he headed that way. 

The stairs had a watcher, though, and he frowned. Getting past the man without attracting attention was going to be difficult, if not impossible. The stairs were in plain view of everyone in the room. 

But would Ramirez have his underworld pals come in through the club? Not bloody likely. Most of them were allergic to being seen. 

So, there had to be another way upstairs. A hidden way. 

Mac headed into the restroom and went about his business while he considered the puzzle. Maybe a hidden elevator? But surely that would be guarded too. 

Then he resisted the urge to smack himself. He was making things far too difficult. A building like this one had fire escapes, assuming that they wanted to stay open. The fire escape would be the easiest way to the upper level. Mac grinned, washed his hands and headed out into the crush again. 

He finally found a side door with a fire alarm that wasn't active and headed out into the back alleyway. A last glance over his shoulder showed Vic still standing against the wall on the other side of the dance floor looking incredibly uncomfortable. Despite Mac's best efforts, Vic just wasn't the nightclub type. 

Outside, a bucket next to the door filled with cigarette butts told Mac why the fire alarm wasn't turned on for that door: Obviously Ramirez's boys used the back for smoke breaks. Toronto city ordinances meant that the club had to be smoke free and the boys didn't look like the types to quit smoking because of that. 

A quick glance around the dirty alley showed that Mac was alone. A little further down, about halfway between the door and the street the alley opened onto, Mac could see the dim outline of a fire escape. 

"Jackpot," he murmured to himself with a grin as he headed for it. 

The start of the ladder was too high off the ground for him to reach, but a nearby dumpster was perfectly positioned. He climbed on top of it, trying not to breathe in the fumes that managed to escape from it even with the lid shut. 

From there, after a quick double-check to make sure that he was _really_ alone, Mac bent his knees, took a deep—albeit distasteful—breath and leapt. 

He just barely caught the bottom of the railing that went around the lowest platform of the fire escape and hung there, swinging, for a moment. The metal creaked and he winced, feeling the rust digging into his palm. When he was sure that no one was going to come running to investigate, he carefully pulled himself upwards until he was able to pass between the bars and onto the semi-solid platform. 

He glanced at his hands and cursed lightly when he saw the blood seeping from the scrapes there. He pulled a pair of thin gloves from his pocket and put them on. They were intended to keep him from leaving fingerprints, but leaving blood splatters would be even worse, especially if the Director was right about there being Kindred involved. 

"Mac." 

Mac stiffened at the sound of his name, then remembered the tiny earpiece he'd forgotten he was wearing. He tapped the equally tiny microphone. "Here," he whispered. 

"I've been ejected. I'll meet you at the truck." 

"'Kay. Give me a half-hour, max." 

"Got it." The earpiece went silent. 

Ready to continue, he started up the fire escape to the second floor windows, moving as quietly as he could on the aging metal structure. Once there, he checked the window and found that it had been wired. 

Well, to a trained thief, the basic security system wasn't even close to a challenge. It took him only a couple minutes to disable the system and lift up the window. He winced a little as the frame creaked—the window obviously hadn't been opened in a _long_ time—then climbed through. 

The hallway was dimly lit, filled with the throb of the music downstairs. Mac glanced around, but didn't see anyone. He closed the window, then went hunting. 

The third door he cracked open led to what was obviously Ramirez's office. The lights were out and no one was inside, so he opened the door and slipped in. 

Shutting the door behind him, he started a search of the office. He quickly came to the realization that Ramirez might be a slob—the place was a mess, with discarded plates and glasses hidden under piles of paper—but he wasn't stupid. Nothing that had been left out contained incriminating information. 

Mac eyed the computer for a moment, then bypassed it. He was good with computers, but not that good. He did check quickly to make sure that the machine had a phone line hooked up: If there was time before he left, he would try dialing into the Agency so that the computer geeks could download anything on the machine that might be of use. 

Instead, Mac glanced around, looking for where the safe would be hidden. He checked behind the paintings on the wall—after all, it was a cliché for good reason. Amazingly, all he found behind the brightly colored canvases was bare walls. Likewise, lifting the rugs showed only battered wood flooring. 

Obviously Ramirez wasn't quite as stupid as he looked. Mac paused, and considered where else a safe could be hidden. 

The sound of voices coming down the hallway interrupted his thoughts, and he looked around. The window was shut and wired, and he wouldn't have enough time to disarm the system and get out if the people in the hallway were coming away. 

The only other option was the door off to the side. It led to Ramirez's private bathroom, he'd found during his initial search. As the voices got closer, he gave a mental shrug and ducked into the small room. There was a window above the toilet— _not_ wired, he noticed—but before he could try it, he heard a door open and the voices suddenly became much louder. Deciding to take a chance, he pressed himself against the door, straining to hear what was going on. 

It didn't take much effort, the walls were so thin. 

"What's the word from the farm?" he heard a voice ask in Spanish. It was loud and heavily accented; Ramirez, he assumed. 

The reply was too low for him to make out more than just the apologetic tone. Obviously Ramirez's people hadn't had any more luck than the Agency investigators. 

"Well, find out! I don't want _anything_ to interfere with our plans. Now, tell me about this jerk downstairs." 

"Says his name is Mansfield," a new voice said, stronger than the first lackey. Mac's eyes went wide, and he wondered what the hell his partner was up to. "He wanted to talk to you. He didn't want to leave a message. Said he didn't deal with 'underlings.'" The man sounded insulted and Mac had to keep himself from snorting. "He left a phone number." 

There was a pause, then Ramirez spoke up again. "Find out who this Mansfield person is. I don't like wildcards." 

"Yessir." 

The door opened, then shut again. There was silence for a few minutes, and Mac was about to open the door again when he heard the creaking of the chair behind the desk. Mac groaned silently and considered trying for the window. He didn't know what was outside it, or if he could get out without attracting attention, but if he stayed where he was, he was going to be found, sooner or later. 

Before he could decide, he heard the door open again and he moved back to the door. 

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" Ramirez said, in English, this time. Irritation was clear in his voice. 

"What's wrong, Jose, did you miss me?" was the sarcastic, lightly accented reply. 

Mac blinked at the new voice. It was deep and sultry and definitely female. Mac closed his eyes and tried to imagine a face to go with the sexy voice and the first thing that came to mind was Lillie Langtry, the glamorous Toreador Primogen from San Francisco. 

"Where have you been?" 

"None of your business. Why, don't you trust me?" The tone was light, but it had an edge to it that also reminded Mac of the Director. 

There was the sound of snorted laugh. "Trust you? I don't trust thieves, even if they _do_ work for me." Mac's eyebrow went up at the word 'thief.' 

The woman's voice was suddenly arctic-cold. "I do not work for you, Ramirez, and you would do well to remember that. I work for Guylaine, and so do you, little man." 

There was silence for a moment. When Ramirez spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled. "What's the word on the Haitian?" 

This time, the woman's voice was all business. "Unlike the last three dealers, he turned down the offer to sell out. He said that the other cowards might be willing to give up, but no one was going to chase him off his turf." 

"Fine. Have him killed. Make it messy." 

"I'll see to it." 

"Then help Esteban track down this Mansfield person who was nosing around earlier." 

"Oh, I already know who he is." Mac could almost here the smirk in the woman's voice. 

"Oh really? Do tell," was the sneering reply. 

"Victor Mansfield. I saw him seven years ago when I was scouting the territory. Cop." 

Ramirez cursed in Spanish. "So he's undercover?" 

"I don't think so. He's now an _ex_ cop. He was sent to jail about that time for stealing drugs from evidence and leaning on local drug dealers, I think it was." 

"He isn't in jail now." 

"How bright of you to notice. Considering his sentence, he must have some pretty powerful friends to be out so soon. The judge was making an example of him." 

"Well, find out who they are. No one is leaning on me. I want them found, then dealt with. Our plans are too far along to allow any interference now." 

"Consider it done." 

A moment later, Mac heard the office door open and shut again. He waited, but there were no sounds of life from the outer room. After a few minutes, he cracked the door open very cautiously. 

He glanced around, but decided that he was pushing the deadline he'd given himself. Given time, he could find the safe and crack it, but nearly getting caught once told him that he was pressing his luck. Besides, what he'd overheard gave them something to work with. 

He checked the hallway, and finding it empty, headed for the window he'd come in through. He slipped back through it and carefully restored the security system behind him. After all, it wouldn't do to let them know they'd been burgled— even if he hadn't taken anything. 

"Nice work," a familiar, sultry voice said from behind him. "Efficient and skilled." 

Mac twisted quickly to find a woman lounging on the fire escape behind him. 

She was nothing like he'd imagined, listening to her voice as she sparred verbally with Ramirez. Her hair was as dark as his own and tied back in a long braid that fell down her back, over the battered leather jacket she was wearing. Her jeans were ripped in all the right places, and where they weren't ripped, they were so worn that they were almost white. With it, she wore a black turtleneck shirt. The only really strange touch was the brightly colored scarf that was tied around her neck. 

She definitely didn't look like the type to be working with drug dealers or killers. 

"Umm..." he said, none too brightly, trying to come up with an excuse for why he was climbing out this window. Of course, there really wasn't any good excuse, other than the obvious: he was breaking in. 

"Find anything interesting?" she asked, honest curiosity in her voice. 

Mac shrugged. He was in deep already, so he might as well play along. "Not really. He seems pretty stupid, but he's good at hiding his safe, at least. I didn't have time to find it." 

She grinned. "That's because he didn't pick the location. I did. So..." She got to her feet suddenly, all casual grace gone, leaving a cold warrior—still graceful, but now deadly—behind. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" 

Mac caught his breath. She might be dangerous, but she was also beautiful. If he weren't already taken, in more ways than one, he might try making a play for her. Then again, he'd been burnt once, getting involved with a suspect, a mistake he was _not_ eager to repeat. 

"Well..." he drawled, trying to collect his thoughts. "Ramirez is getting pretty well known on the streets. Anyone doing that much business should have plenty of cash on hand, right? I thought I might be able to... help myself to some." 

Her smile was downright feral. "And why shouldn't I take you in and hand you over to Ramirez? By morning, you'll be at the bottom of Lake Ontario." 

"Um... Because I'm cute?" Mac tried his most ingratiating grin, one that had even got him out of trouble with the Director from time to time. Sorta. Almost. 

Her eyebrows went up and she started to laugh. "You've got moxie, that's for sure. What's your name?" 

"Mac. You?" 

"Kata." She looked him up and down. "And you could almost be family, from the look of you." 

"Family?" 

"Hmm," she hummed to herself in an affirmative note, but said nothing more. Mac always found that infuriating, but found himself strangely reluctant to press for something more definitive. 

"So," she finally said. "A thief, albeit a cute one. But one that is empty handed, so not a very good one." 

Mac straightened up, his professional pride pricked. "I am an _excellent_ thief. I was pressed for time, though. If I'd found the safe, you can bet it would be empty right now." Then he winced. What the hell was he saying? 

Luckily, she seemed more amused than anything else. "Oh really? Prove it." 

"How?" 

She considered for a moment, then smiled a slow and calculating smile. "A test, then. There's an Egyptian exhibit at the ROM right now. The centerpiece is a solid gold sarcophagus." 

Mac stared at her in disbelief. "Are you joking? The security on that thing is horrendous, it's impossible to fence. Not to mention the fact that it's a little heavy to carry out." 

"But I thought you were an _excellent_ thief," she said, mockingly. "But no, I'm not asking you to _steal_ the sarcophagus." 

"Then what _are_ you asking?" he asked suspiciously. 

She lifted a wrist, showing a thin gold chain wrapped around it. She undid the clasp and dropped it in his hand. "Tuck this under golden-boy's chin. If you do it right, it will almost disappear against all the other gold. I'll look for it." 

Mac checked the bracelet. It was fine enough to do as she said. It was also not cheap. "You'll trust me not to run with this?" 

"Run, and I'll find you. And I won't be so nice. I'll give you one week. If by next... Saturday, let's say, you haven't succeeded, I'll expect you to come back and tell me. _And_ return the bracelet, of course. If you do, I'll still let you go. If you don't..." 

She didn't continue, but the expression on her face chilled him to the bone. 

"All right," he said, dropping the chain into his pocket. "It's a deal. And I won't fail," he added. He wasn't sure what the Director was going to say about this, but his pride as a thief—albeit a retired one—was on the line. He'd never backed down from a challenge before, and no way was he going to back down from _this_ one. 

"We'll see," she said, then jumped over the side of the fire escape. 

"Shit!" Mac said—softly, of course—and moved to look down. He fully expected to see her lying on the ground with a broken leg, if not worse. 

Instead, he saw a shapely figure heading down the alley, hips swaying in the age-old seductive dance. He blew out a gust of air. 

How the hell had she managed that? Hell, how'd she managed to sneak up on him in the first place. _No_ one had ever done that before. 

Then he heard voices, and he shook off all thoughts other than getting out of there in one piece. 

Below, he saw one of Ramirez's thugs light a cigarette, then settle down for a smoke. Mac sighed, and resigned himself to waiting the man out. He couldn't even safely contact Vic and let him know what was happening. 

To distract himself, he considered the enigma of the woman, Kata. She didn't seem like the type to work for a man like Ramirez. On the other hand, according to the conversation he'd overheard, she didn't. Instead, someone else was pulling the strings. Someone named Guylaine. Maybe Nathan would be able to find something on this mysterious Guylaine. 

In the meantime, it looked like Vic was going to work the angle of a local trying to horn in on Ramirez's business. Heck, it wasn't a bad idea, albeit a dangerous one. So while he did that, Mac could work on Kata. Of course, first step would have to be breaking into the Royal Ontario Museum to meet her challenge. He grinned wolfishly at the idea. It had been a long time since he'd really stretched his muscles, so to speak, and he found he was looking forward to it. And it wasn't like anyone would get hurt, so the Director couldn't _really_ object. Besides, it would be fun. 

A door slamming got his attention. A voice called out in Spanish. 

"Gregor, better get your ass inside. Ramirez is on a rampage. He wants _everyone_ inside. Now." 

The man, Gregor, cursed softly, dropped his cigarette and ground it out under the heel of his shoes. Then he headed for the brightly lit doorway. 

As soon as the door shut, Mac was heading down the fire escape, as quietly as possible. Vic would be pissed if he had to wait _too_ much longer. 

It looked like things were starting to get interesting. 

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"You have _got_ to be joking! No way, it's _far_ too dangerous."

Vic took a deep breath, but that didn't much help. The evening had not exactly gone as planned.

First there was his run-in with Ramirez's goon, which had led to his possibly ill-conceived improvisation. Actually, the Director had actually seemed happy about that part, but what made her happy was usually pretty scary.

Then Mac had arrived back at the truck, basically empty-handed except for the bracelet that was currently in the Director's hands. That and...

Vic took another deep breath and fought down a flash of rage. Mac still reeked, to his nose. Reeked of the scent of their mysterious watcher. Something about that bothered him on levels he hadn't even expected existed. Mac was _his_. He shouldn't be smelling of anyone else. And that scared him. He'd _never_ been this possessive of a lover in his life.

Vic closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was to scare the younger man off with a fit of jealousy. Mac was coming around, but he was still a little twitchy about their relationship. Vic could understand, but his instincts were still to demand more than Mac was giving. Patience, Vic, he told himself. They were moving in the right direction.

"Actually, I think this is an excellent opportunity," the Director said, letting the fine gold chain spill from one hand to the other. "You work on Ramirez, while Mac works on the lady flunky."

"Not a flunky," Mac broke in. "In that conversation I overheard, she was quite clear on that. They both work for someone else named Guylaine. Any ideas who that might be?"

"I stand corrected," the Director said with a look that said Mac should have kept his mouth shut. "And we _will_ be investigating that link. I do have a few suspicions about who Guylaine is, though," she added thoughtfully as she wrapped the chain around her index finger before dropping into her palm again.

Vic glanced at Mac. If the Director knew who this person was, it couldn't be good.

But the Director didn't seem inclined to elaborate on that statement, so Vic went on with his objections.

"She's a killer, and probably Kindred! You want Mac hanging around with her?"

"We don't know that she's the killer."

"You said that he told her to kill the Haitian." Mac was already shaking his head.

"I said that Ramirez told her to _have_ him killed. And she said that she would _see_ to it. That doesn't necessarily mean that she's going to do it personally. She might simply be the person that the killer reports to."

"And maybe the tooth fairy really does exist," Vic muttered to himself. Then he said in a louder voice, "And I suppose you don't think she could _possibly_ be the killer?" That was fighting dirty, he knew; bringing up Claire, the industrial thief Mac had almost married, convinced that she had _nothing_ to do with the theft of the design for a nuclear hand grenade. A belief he'd held to until the moment she'd pulled the damned thing on them at the church when LiAnn had exposed her plan.

Mac bristled at the sarcasm. "Don't be an idiot," he said hotly. "Of course she could be the killer. She probably _is_ the killer. She certainly strikes me as being capable."

Vic winced at the angry glance Mac shot his way. He felt a little guilty for assuming that Mac wouldn't be able to... what? Think straight in the face of a beautiful woman? Vic squashed the momentary flash of insecurity. LiAnn had complained that Vic had been too insecure about their relationship, as if he expected her to leave him at any moment. She said it made him clingy. He was _not_ going to make the same mistakes over again.

Besides, Mac hadn't exactly _said_ that she was beautiful. Maybe she was old and ugly and overweight.

Yeah. Right.

"The _other_ question," the Director broke in pointedly, "is whether or not she is the person who blew up the farm with the drug processing lab. Is she is, then why? Perhaps there is a wedge that we can drive between them."

"Divide and conquer," Mac chimed in.

Vic was starting to feel outnumbered. Obviously, his partner and his boss had made their decision and weren't willing to listen to reason. "It's still too dangerous," he repeated, knowing that he sounded petulant but unable to help it.

The Director waved off the comment, but the look in Mac's eyes said that he was going to be hearing a long and heated 'I can take care of myself' lecture from the younger man as soon as they were alone.

"And setting yourself up as a potential target for Ramirez isn't?" was all Mac said.

Vic winced. Point taken. Still, at the moment he was a little more capable of protecting himself, although he was smart enough _not_ to say that out loud.

"Victor," the Director said, breaking in again. "You will wait until Ramirez calls you. You will present yourself as someone who has a pipeline of illegal drugs into the city that could either be a rival or an ally, including a new drug, even more potent than the one Ramirez has."

"What drug is that?" Vic asked suspiciously.

"Candy."

Mac stiffened, while Vic's eyes went wide, but her expression told them not to protest. Candy was a drug developed by an Agency scientist, Dr. Fry. He'd been looking for a way to turn ordinary people into perfect tools, without morals or conscience or inhibitions. It had succeeded, to a point, but the three test subjects had become unstable and had escaped to go on a violent spree. They'd barely stopped the three, but not before the so- called Drogues had addicted Dr. Fry to Candy to force him to make more for them. He'd later come up with a cure, while locked in an Agency lab.

He just hoped that she didn't _really_ intend to hand over even a tiny sample of the drug to the man. The thought of Candy available on the city streets scared the hell out of him.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to challenge her, the Director turned to Mac. "You will work on this Kata. I'll arrange to have this placed," she said, jingling the gold chain in her hand.

There was a wordless protest from Mac, and her eyebrow went up. Then she sighed. "Let me guess, Mr. Ramsey. You want to take care of it yourself."

Mac shrugged his shoulders. "Well, she might be watching," he said weakly. Even Vic could tell that he was just making excuses. Mac really wanted to do it because it was a challenge.

The Director smiled slightly. "Worried that the old skills might be getting a little rusty?" she said, one elegant eyebrow lifted. Mac flushed, his eyes downcast.

"Never mind," she said, then tossed him the chain. "Very well, I will leave that to you. However, if you want to do it on your own, it will be _completely_ on your own. No use of Agency resources. And we won't bail you out if you fail or get caught."

"Fine by me," Mac said, catching the bracelet out of the air. Already, Vic could see the sparkle in the man's eyes. Mac rarely got to use the skills he'd trained most of his life to use—the skills of a master thief—and he relished every chance he got. And after being dragged along on the 'caper' with the Rivers family, Vic could kind of understand the appeal. The chance of discovery, of capture, made you feel more alive. Instead of brute force, your survival rested on fine skills.

And even though the Director kept a straight face, he could see her amusement at the change. If she'd really wanted to, she could have shot Mac down. Instead, she was giving him exactly what he wanted; the chance to meet Kata's challenge and adding one of her own. Mac would work even harder to prove to her that he _could_ do it on his own.

If he wasn't supposed to be tackling Ramirez, Vic would have been tempted to tag along for the ride, just to recapture that special adrenaline rush he could still remember from the diamond theft.

Finally, less than an hour before sunrise, the Director dismissed them. If she'd delayed any longer, Vic would have ended up sleeping at the Agency headquarters; something he hadn't done since his Embrace, and which he wasn't eager to do anytime soon. Mac was yawning widely as they headed for the parking lot.

"My place?" Vic suggested, even though he knew that there wouldn't be time for anything more than a quick shower before the sun rising sent him into coma-land.

Mac shook his head. "I need to drive past the ROM. It's going to take me a day or two to set up the job."

"Will I see you tonight?" 

"Maybe," Mac replied, his gaze distant and distracted. Vic could see that most of his mind was on the upcoming job. He was more than a little disappointed, but they both knew that work had better come first if they didn't want the Director to split them up permanently.

"Okay," he said reluctantly, one eye on the horizon. Even though the sky hadn't started to lighten yet, he could still feel the sun moving higher. He needed to get going immediately if he wanted to get home in time to do anything more than just crash.

But if he couldn't have a warm Mac to cuddle against as he slept, he would at least have the taste of him.

A grab at the back of the man's belt stopped him in his tracks, then reeled him in. The distracted look was gone, replaced by Mac's trademark smirk, as he turned to face Vic. "Forget something?" he asked.

"Yeah. This."

With that, Vic grabbed Mac's face between his hands and pulled him in for a long, heated kiss. His hands slipped lower, wrapping around Mac's waist, pulling the younger man tight against himself, and bent his head to nuzzle at Mac's neck. Then he paused and waited for permission.

Mac's head fell back and he groaned. "Oh, yeah," he moaned.

They didn't have time for anything long or involved, so after a few quick licks, Vic let his fangs drop down and plunged them into the vein right below the surface. A few quick swallows that burned through him like liquid fire, he withdrew and licked the wound shut and invisible before moving back up for another deep kiss. It wasn't really a feeding; he'd just taken a small taste.

"Ahem."

They practically flew apart at the amused cough. Turning, Vic already knew that the figure standing behind was Kindred, but thankfully it wasn't the Director.

"You need to be more careful, Ace," Dobrinsky said, a self- satisfied smirk on his face. "There is such a thing as the Masquerade, you know."

Vic brushed his mouth, self-consciously. "Who would see anything more than two lovers necking?" he shot back at the Ventrue. The large man was the Director's right-hand man, and he'd always been more than a little intimidating, even _before_ Vic had found out about the man's true nature.

"True. Doesn't mean someone seeing you might not be a gay-basher, though. Try to be a little more discreet, hmmm?"

With that, Dobrinsky brushed past them, heading for one of his large collection of vintage cars. Vic had always wondered how the guy could afford to maintain a fleet of more than fifty cars, let alone buy them. Finding out that the man was more than a hundred years old had helped to answer that question.

Mac kissed him again, quickly, then backed away. "You better get going," he said. "I prefer the un-toasted version of Vic Mansfield."

"Be careful, Mac."

The glare was back, but with less heat than before. "I'm a big boy, Vic. I might not have fangs and super strength, but I can take care of myself."

"I know," Vic said sheepishly. "I just... worry."

Mac snorted. "Worry? You? Vic, you raise worrying to a high art." Then his expression softened. "I worry about you too. So I'll make you a deal. I'll be super careful around Kata if you do the same around Ramirez. Deal?"

"Deal. And watch your step with the lady. I _might_ be the jealous type." He snorted, mentally. Who was he kidding? He was _already_ jealous.

Mac stepped closer. "You're not the only one," he growled in Vic's ear. "Remember that." He quickly kissed Vic, then headed off at a near run.

Vic stood grinning as Mac climbed into his car and pulled away.

Then, remembering the toast comment, he climbed into his own truck and headed for home.

* * *

Vic woke nearly two hours before sunset, already alert. It hadn't taken him very long to adjust to waking before the sunset, although he was still dead to the world almost as soon as the sun came up.

He hadn't seen any firm statistics on how long fledglings _usually_ took to make that sort of adjustment, but based on what he'd been told, he was adjusting faster than most. According to both Moira and the Director, it had to do with how many 'generations' removed from Cain he was. Moira, at least, seemed to think that was a drawback, but he disagreed. Although he'd never dared to tell her, he felt that it made him a little more... human than the older Kindred.

As for the Director, she just thought of it in terms of how it would affect his usefulness.

Vic rolled over and found the other side of the bed mussed up and the scent of Mac on the pillow next to his. Vic grinned. The traces were a couple hours old, and he knew that there was no one else in the apartment at the moment, but he found himself absurdly pleased that Mac had come to _his_ apartment for an afternoon nap instead of just going back to his own place. Maybe it wasn't too soon to start making subtle hints that Mac should move in with him...

But being awake this long before sunset _did_ have its drawbacks. The living room had large windows, and his instincts were telling him that it was a bright, sunny day outside and he had forgotten to close the drapes before collapsing into bed. As a result, he was basically trapped in his bedroom and its attached bathroom.

Luckily, he planned for these things. Tucked into a corner was a small bar fridge with a couple packets of blood, just in case he got really desperate for drink. He also kept a well-stocked bookcase and a laptop computer in the bedroom. Despite people's assumptions, he wasn't a dumb hick cop. He'd always read, and now that he was looking at a _very_ long life, he read even more. Fiction, non-fiction; you name it, he inhaled it.

Currently, he was reading a novel built around cryptography— not your standard fare. It was nearly a thousand pages and he was only half-done. Fluffing up his pillows, he settled back to read.

An hour—and nearly a hundred pages—later, he was pulled away by the ringing of his cell phone. He tucked his bookmark into the spot he was at and set the book on the side table before picking up the phone.

"Mansfield."

"I understand you wanted to talk to me, Mr. Mansfield. Or should I say, _Officer_ Mansfield?"

Vic sat up a little straighter at the accented voice. "Mr. Ramirez, I presume."

"So what does a cop want with a simple nightclub owner?" The man's voice almost oozed with oil. It didn't disguise the underlying menace, however.

Vic snorted. "Let's not play games, Mr. Ramirez. We both know that you are in the process of establishing yourself as _the_ drug lord for Toronto. Not exactly the actions of a 'simple nightclub owner.'"

"Is this were you tell me I'm going down hard, cop?" the man quipped, quoting too many bad movies.

"I'm not a cop," Vic said mildly.

"That's not what I hear."

"Then your information is more than seven years out of date, Mr. Ramirez. Now, are we going to trade barbs all night or are we going to talk business?"

"And what possible business could we have to discuss?"

Vic found himself smirking at the smug tone of the man. Taking Ramirez down was going to feel so good. There was something about the bastard's voice that really put him off. Not to mention the fact that the man was importing poison into _his_ city.

"I understand you've decided to branch out from the standard street drugs. A little something called Dreamworks? Aren't you afraid that Spielberg might sue for trademark infringement?"

"Very funny. Is there a point to all this?"

Deciding that Ramirez was starting to sound a little _too_ pissed, Vic got serious. "I represent a group that is in the business of... product development; both improving the existing and developing the new. However, they do not like to be bothered with marketing and distribution. They are looking for an agent to take care of that."

"I'm listening," was the non-committal reply.

"My employers have developed several methods for refining current popular street drugs to make them more addictive and more effective in smaller doses. That way, the drugs can be cut with more fillers, allowing you to sell the same amount of drugs to more people, bringing in higher profits."

"And how much profit is eaten up by this 'refining' process?"

Vic felt his lips draw back into a tight smile. He could hear the interest and greed in the other man's voice.

"It adds about ten percent to the average producer's cost. However, it also allows them to double the potency of the product, so the same amount can be sold for twice as much." He paused and waited for the man to do the math.

"Acceptable," Ramirez said. Vic resisted the urge to laugh; it was a sight more than 'acceptable.' "And you mentioned new product?"

Vic winced: He'd been hoping that the refining process would be enough of a hook for the man. However, he was too good at his job to let his distaste bleed through. To anyone listening, he was cold as ice, all business.

"It's a little thing we call Candy."

"I've... heard of it. It sent users a rampage that caused a great deal of expensive damage. Not exactly a good selling point."

"That was one of the initial field tests. It has been redesigned since then to reduce that instability factor. It couldn't be completely removed, since one of the side-effects is the reduction of personal morals and inhibitions. It is also addictive from the first dose, and stopping taking it means death, so a customer is forced to _keep_ coming back, especially if you are the only source."

"On the other hand, police tend to get a lot more interested in a designer drug that leaves more bodies than usual around," Ramirez pointed out.

Vic silently cheered; you rarely found a drug dealer with that much common sense. "Hey, it's up to you."

"All right. You've had your say. I will consider your information and if I decide it's in my interests to deal with your bosses, I'll get back to you.

"However, I recommend that they don't try anything stupid, like going into business on their own, in the meantime. Competing with me would be a _very_ bad idea. Do you understand?"

Vic shivered. The menace in the other man's voice was no longer hidden and it was chilling, despite his b-movie villain accent and the unimpressive image from the pictures Vic had seen the evening before. "Understood. But understand, we are not the same sort of pushovers as the dealers you've been negotiating with up until now."

"We'll see."

Ramirez hung up, and Vic put down the cellphone, staring at it thoughtfully.

A moment later, it rang again, making him jump. Frowning, he picked it up and flipped it open. "Mansfield."

"Very nicely done, Victor," a very familiar voice purred in his ear. "I knew you did well in undercover work, but you were even more convincing than I'd expected." The Director.

Vic glanced up at the light fixture over his bed. Obviously she had his new place as bugged as the last one. He was going to have to start scanning it too. Between his training and the new case, he just hadn't had the time yet.

"Thanks," he said bitterly.

"Awww, what's wrong, Victor?"

Vic glanced at the clock. The sun would be going down in a few more minutes. Then he could get out of here and _do_ something. He was already starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Maybe a walk in the park before he headed over to the Agency to do some research...

But the Director was still waiting for an answer. "Why are we developing ways to make drugs more powerful?" he blurted out, not entirely sure if it was a smart thing to be asking.

The Director sighed theatrically over the phone. "Victor, do you really believe that we are capable of playing with improving street drugs?"

Vic's lips twisted into an ironic smile. "Yes"

"True. However, in this case, wrong. We were actually trying to improve the effectiveness of so-called truth serums. The process just happened to translate to other forms of drugs as well."

Vic had to admit that even though he didn't believe her, the explanation made sense. Too much sense for him to protest. "If you say so," he said noncommittally.

"I do. So, what are your plans?"

Vic sighed. "Well, there isn't a hell of a lot I can do until Ramirez decides to contact me again. I thought I'd talk to Nathan, see if we can't backtrack Ramirez to this Guylaine person."

There was a pause. "That might not be wise."

Vic was getting very suspicious now. His instincts were telling him that the Director knew _exactly_ who this mysterious person was. Of course, she wasn't going to tell them anything that might help their investigation. After all, they'd gone through the same thing with Pucci, the rogue Agency assassin who'd tried to kill her.

"It does need to be done," he pointed out. If she wasn't going to tell them anything, they were just going to have to do it themselves.

"Fine," she said tersely. "But be careful, little boy. Remember, you're a fledgling in a very nasty world now. If you go poking in dark corners, you might disturb something that you can't handle."

With that cryptic remark, she hung up.

Vic stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, then shrugged and put it down. The sun was down and it was time for him to get to work. He headed for the living room, stopped and smiled.

The drapes were pulled tightly shut and a large note was pinned to where they joined.

"Remember, un-toasted tastes better."

Vic grinned and headed for the door.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Mac whistled cheerfully as he drove away from the entrance to the Agency's underground headquarters. He wasn't worried about Vic getting under cover before sunrise—the man was too smart to get himself flambéed by making a stupid mistake like that. Of course, he had looked kissed stupid when Mac had left him in the parking lot. Still, even if _he_ forgot, one of the Director's people would take care of him. 

Of course, Vic would never live that down. 

The image almost made up for the fact that he was still pissed off at the man. The old Vic—the pre-Embrace Vic—had been cautious, but not stupid. And stupid was the only way to describe Vic's behavior that night. Mac wasn't thinking about the man's improvisation at the club. No, he was pissed because after doing that, Vic had the gall to suggest that _him_ working the woman, Kata, was too dangerous. Mac was a big boy; he could take care of himself. Unfortunately, it looked like he was going to have to convince Vic of that little fact. 

Of course, the other explanation might be that Vic was simply jealous. Mac hadn't missed the flare of the man's nostrils every time he got close to Mac. Kindred had sharper noses than ordinary mortals, he knew. After all, Vic had recognized the scent before Mac could even start to explain what had happened while he was trying to break out of Ramirez's office. Vic's eyes had glowed that eerie silver while Mac had described his own little adventure. The memory still made him shiver in a way that wasn't _completely_ unpleasant. 

Mac turned his car towards his apartment building, making plans in the back of his mind while he continued to consider the problem of his lover. 

And maybe that word, along with everything that went with it, was the problem. Lover. Mac well understood the urge to protect one's loved ones, even though he'd only gotten that close to a very few people in his life. 

LiAnn. He'd wanted to run from the Tang family partly because he could see himself being forced into roles that he wanted nothing to do with. Being ordered to head the gun-running operation had been the last straw and he would have run, even if she'd decided to stay. But a large part of his reason for leaving had been to protect LiAnn. Even though she'd refused to see it, he'd been able to see just how unstable Michael was becoming and what sort of danger their foster brother's obsession with LiAnn was going to cause them. Mac still went cold at the memory of the young and definitely psychotic man he'd called brother. 

Claire. He'd almost married her. He'd also tried to protect her from the Agency. Hell, he'd even tried to protect her from herself. And in return, she'd nearly blown them both up. The only thing he could say for her was that in the end, she hadn't been able to kill him. But the memory still burned in his mind with a sense of shame. LiAnn had tried to warn him, as had the Director. Even Vic had tried, although when he'd seen that Mac wasn't going to change his mind, he'd done everything he could to support him, even agreeing to be his best man. One of the many times that the man had been there for him, even though he'd tried to pass it off as eliminating him as a rival for LiAnn. 

Angie. Mac smiled wistfully at the memory. Angie Rivers had been the opposite of Claire in every way possible. Innocent instead of worldly. Clingy instead of self-sufficient. Dark instead of blonde. The only thing that the two women had in common was that they were both thieves. And Mac. 

But in Angie's case, he'd protected her by getting the hell out of her life when she and her family had left to start over in BC. She'd asked him to come with her, but all he would have been able to do for her otherwise was to drag her down with him. Besides, the Agency never would have let him go. 

After that, he had learned his lesson. He hadn't dated any woman more than once, and just for the purpose of sex. That didn't bother him, since they were only looking for great sex with a good-looking man and he had given it to them. A few of the men had rated more than one date, but again, sex was the only reason and they'd all known it. Men understood that a little better, not expecting romance or engagement rings. Even Cash had only been sex, albeit wrapped in a very fun package. 

But Vic was different. Vic, he couldn't keep at arm's length. Vic had already become part of him, through their work relationship. Adding sex to the mix had been dangerous, not to mention very, very thrilling. 

And even though it wasn't the best sex he'd ever had in his life, it was definitely the most satisfying, he realized. So much so that he wasn't willing to lose it. 

Maybe he was ready to try that commitment thing again. 

* * *

A few hours later, Mac was on the road again. The first thing he'd done on getting home was to take a short nap to recharge his batteries. He had a lot to do and he'd already been up all night. A little surprisingly, he found himself frequently reaching for a cool body that wasn't there. After years of sleeping alone, he found himself missing having his partner to cuddle. Instead, all he'd found were slightly stale-smelling sheets. 

On waking, he'd taken a long, hot shower, nearly scrubbing off the outer layer of his skin. Vic had been complaining so much about smelling Kata on him that _Mac_ could almost smell it. 

Smelling, he hoped, of only soap and antiperspirant, Mac changed into fresh clothes, deliberately choosing for once to dress down in blue jeans and a green sweater to give the image of a typical college student. Then he headed out to his car an he was on the road again. He stopped briefly at a favorite patisserie for a quick breakfast—his cupboards were definitely getting bare—before heading downtown towards the ROM. 

The original Royal Ontario Museum had been opened in 1914 as part of the university of Toronto. Some forty years later, it was separated from the university and the five departments were merged into the single organization it now was. The focus was on archaeology and anthropology, mostly, and the museum funded expeditions all over the world, not just North America. It also had displays of zoology and geology, not to mention the dinosaur displays that were so popular with the kiddies. And always a favorite of the visitors; the Egyptian display. 

Of course, he hadn't known much of this before that morning. Amazing what you could learn from the internet, he thought to himself with a smile. The museum had a nicely informative website. He was a little surprised, though, to realize that he'd been in the city for nearly three years and hadn't yet gone to visit its most famous museum. 

He arrived just after the museum opened for the day. It was even early enough that he was able to find a parking spot in the closest lot, just down Bloor street from the museum. He paid his admission and started wandering the museum. 

Like any typical tourist, student or not, he bought the full museum guide and picked up a collection of glossy brochures. He drifted around, staring at a variety of exhibits, both permanent and traveling. In fact, if he weren't working he would be enjoying himself thoroughly. 

Unfortunately, museum rules didn't allow him to bring a camera in with him and thanks to the Director, he couldn't borrow one of the Agency's tiny spy cams. Instead, he had brought a large sketch pad and a variety of pencils, all tucked into a battered leather art case, along with pencil sharpeners and erasers. 

He hadn't even had to buy the art supplies. Growing up in Hong Kong, he'd been trained in fine arts, since on occasion they—he, Michael and LiAnn— would be sent to steal artwork from either private homes or museums and needed to be able to recognize fakes from masterpieces, as well as which were worth the most. As part of that training, he'd learned sketching, and had discovered that not only did he have a talent for it, he also enjoyed it. He'd stopped during his time in prison, not being allowed any sort of personal items. Maybe they thought he would stab himself to death with a sharp pencil. When the Agency had decided to mandate hobbies—a stupid rule, he still thought—he'd taken up drawing again. He hadn't told anyone about it, though, since he didn't want to be teased about either going along with the directive or what his choice had been. 

Picking a display that had nothing to do with Egypt—namely one of the totem or crest poles that soared above the main entrance—he sat down and flipped through the book, past sketches of LiAnn and Vic, stopping briefly to admire one of his most recent drawings, a nude of a sleeping Vic done from memory after their return from San Francisco. He also had cityscapes done from his balcony and a variety of other subjects. Finding a blank page, he drew a deep breath of the sterile, and yet somehow ancient feeling air of the museum and started to work. 

He quickly lost himself in his work, ignoring a few positive comments from people passing by that couldn't seem to help looking over the shoulder of a complete stranger. Once he was satisfied with the detailed drawing, he moved on, once again picking a sketch subject that wasn't part of the Egyptian exhibit. He didn't want to attract the wrong sort of attention, so he was circling in on his target. 

A few hours later, he broke for lunch. Normally, he would have gone to the expensive restaurant at the museum, or one down the street, preferring the finer things in life, but in keeping with his student look, he headed for the deli near the main entrance instead. He chose a roast beef on rye with mustard and a garden salad on the side, along with a pop since the deli didn't serve beer. Of course, even if they did, they wouldn't have his favorite Chinese beer, he was sure. Worrying about the time, he ate quickly, then went back to work. 

This time, he headed straight for the Egyptian exhibit, deciding that he'd established himself adequately as an art student, either local or from out of town. No one was giving him a second glance, and he'd even seen a couple other students doing the same sort of sketching that he was. 

Once again, he worked his way around to his goal, sketching first a statue, then a set of jewelry, both in black and white, as well as color pencil. He found himself a little regretful that they wouldn't allow him to bring watercolors, though, before reminding himself that he _wasn't_ there for pleasure. Still, he made a mental note to come back again sometime when he wasn't on a case. He'd like to see a little more of the museum, now that it had been brought to his attention. 

Reaching the centerpiece of the display, the sarcophagus that was his target, he settled down on a marble bench and started to draw. The security guard watched him suspiciously for a moment, then ignored him. 

For the next hour, he sketched the display from several angles. Anyone looking over his shoulder would just see detailed drawings of the gold monstrosity surrounded by rough backgrounds. He didn't draw anything of the security, which would give him away, but he noted every obvious and not so obvious sign of the security setup. He'd already noted the tiny signs telling him who had set it up. He was still amazed that they were that stupid. On the other hand, he'd learned through the years that seemingly smart people really _were_ that stupid. 

By mid-afternoon, he was pleased with himself. He had come up with the start of a plan of how to reach the room and get into the display case to add the gold chain while apparently concentrating only on his art. All he needed now was a better idea of the museum's security system, its wiring and the guard schedule, and thanks to the helpful advertising, he knew just where to find that information. 

But that would have to wait until night, when the security company's offices would be shut down for the day. In the meantime, he was starting to yawn again, thanks to the erratic schedule of the last few days. He left the museum, collected his car from the lot, paying the exorbitant parking fees, and pointed his chariot towards home. 

Sometime later, he came out of his haze to realize that he was pulling into the parking lot at Vic's building, not his own. He stared up at it, wondering what to do next. It was only a short drive to his own place, but instead he found himself pulling into a parking spot labeled visitors and heading for the elevator, making excuses to himself as he went. 

Finally, as he reached the apartment door, he gave up on even the excuses. After all, he hadn't been able to spend any time with Vic the night before. Well, no real _personal_ time. And surely Vic wouldn't mind him taking liberties, since he _had_ given Mac a key. The key that Mac was now using to let himself in. 

The apartment was silent, as expected. Mac locked the door behind himself, dropped his art case on the table next to the door, along with his keys, and headed into the living room. 

There, he stopped in his tracks and frowned at the wide open drapes. The room was flooded with sunlight, giving everything a bright glow. It had turned into a beautiful late spring afternoon, and normally this would be a pleasant sight, but he wasn't vulnerable to sunlight the way that Vic now was. 

Grumbling to himself about vampires who didn't have the sense to stay out of the sun, Mac pulled the drapes shut, checking to make sure that not even the smallest sliver of sunlight was getting through. Then, going with impulse yet again, he pulled a blank page from his sketchbook, wrote a pointed note on it and pinned it to the drapes where Vic wouldn't be able to miss it. Hopefully, he wouldn't miss the point either. 

The idiot definitely needed a keeper, Mac thought to himself, and it looked like he'd been nominated. 

Having prevented accidentally fried lover-kebob, Mac headed for the bedroom, stripping off his fake-student clothes as he went. He left the jeans and sweater draped over the back of the sofa and stopped at the bedroom door, dressed in only his briefs. 

He smiled fondly at the sight of Vic, curled up like a little baby, one hand under his cheek. He stripped his briefs off and slid under the covers. He spooned up behind Vic and wrapped his arms around the sleeping man, sighing happily at how perfectly they fit together. 

Vic's body was cool to the touch and there was no breath to make his chest rise and fall, but if Mac listened hard, he could hear the unnaturally slow —but still steady—sound of the man's heartbeat. 

Counting the beats, he quickly drifted into slumber. 

* * *

Mac woke well before sunset. He hadn't slept well, troubled by disturbing dreams that he already couldn't remember. Reluctantly, he slipped out of the bed with its still sleeping occupant and headed for the living room. He pulled his clothes back on, collected his stuff and headed out the door. 

Now that he was a little more alert, he felt a little embarrassed over having just walked in and crawling into bed with his partner. He doubted that _Vic_ would be bothered by it, but then Vic would take it as a sign that he was weakening over the whole 'couple' thing. 

And maybe he was. 

Still, Mac wasn't about to let _him_ know that yet. While he might be weakening, he wasn't ready to give up his freedom. Besides, it might be fun to let Vic convince him. 

Mac paused and shook his head. The part that still seemed strange to him, though, was that while he was worried about commitment and sleeping with a partner, the one thing that _didn't_ bother him was the fact that his partner was now a vampire. You would think that _that_ would have had him running for the hills, but he'd accepted it easily. He even enjoyed being literally a 'dinner' date. 

Okay, sure he'd seen plenty of really weird stuff since being drafted by the Agency, but vampires were definitely weirder than the norm. 

On the other hand, he'd always thought of the Director as a blood-sucker— although not quite so literally. And as for Vic, maybe the fact that they'd worked together for so long made accepting the change easier, just like he'd have no problem accepting LiAnn, no matter what she became. And Jackie was so flaky, he'd buy her as just about anything. 

Of course, there were limits. He just hadn't figured out what those limits _were_ yet. 

And that might be the most disturbing thing of all. 

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Vic headed for his apartment again, earlier than he had planned. He was carrying a pile of folders and had a couple zip disks in his jacket pocket that held everything that he and Nathan had been able to find on Ramirez, as well as anyone associated with him. Hopefully, going through the information would give them a handle on the man and his mysterious boss, Guylaine. 

Normally he wouldn't have been allowed to bring any of this stuff home to review, especially the paper files, since the Agency preferred to keep their records on-site. Unfortunately, doing the review in the records department had proved to be completely impossible. 

The problem, amazingly enough, had been Nathan. For years, the nervous little researcher had fallen all over himself trying to please Vic, who he had decided was a prince of the Illuminati. It had been useful, but annoying as hell. This time, though, he'd taken one look at Vic and he'd almost fallen over himself running in the opposite direction. Somehow, he had recognized the change in Vic. 

It had taken him nearly half an hour to coax the cowering man out of the cubby-hole he'd hidden himself in and to convince him that Vic _wasn't_ a danger to him, although he wasn't sure that Nathan had believed him. Even though Vic had long complained about the man's fawning, he found himself perversely disappointed by the change. 

The other big surprise was the realization that Nathan was a ghoul, which explained just _how_ he had known that Vic was now Kindred. And even _more_ surprising was just whose ghoul. 

He wouldn't have thought that Nathan was Dobrinsky's type. 

The way it had been explained to him, a ghoul was a human who'd been fed Kindred blood without being Embraced. It was done with humans who were valuable, either as servants or daytime representatives. The taste of blood fixated them on the Kindred individual, making them almost painfully eager to please. Moira had suggested that he make a few ghouls of his own, since they were also a useful source of blood, but Vic still found the whole concept more than a little disgusting. Still, he could understand why the paranoid little researcher would be considered useful. 

Anyway, he had finally decided to take pity on Nathan, who was growing more and more agitated by the moment. Collecting together what they'd found so far, he'd told the man to keep hunting while he went home to read over what they already had. His last sight of Nathan had been of the young man's back as he scurried down the hall in the direction of Dobrinsky's office. 

Vic shook his head, trying to clear the image of Dobrinsky and Nathan from his mind. The Kindred-ghoul relationship didn't have to be sexual, but the slavish devotion of a ghoul mean that it was usually was, and the idea of Nathan having sex was... 

To distract himself, Vic went back to the files. 

Ramirez, Jonathon. No known birth date. No known family. All of these things seemed to suggest Kindred. After all, as you got older, you couldn't exactly admit to who you really were, since it wouldn't match with your appearance. It also suggested that he wasn't very highly placed, since a Prince could afford to set up better fake identities for their favored subordinates. 

Of course, if this was an attempt by a rival Prince to move in on the Director's territory, that Prince _wasn't_ going to send anyone too valuable or easily traced back to them. There would be no overt moves until they were sure of victory. 

God, he hated politics. This was even worse than back on the police force. 

So, if it _was_ a move on Toronto and its Prince, then Guylaine could be the name of the rival Prince, which would explain the Director's cryptic warnings. It didn't, however, explain her refusal to provide information that they could use. 

Vic searched his memories of the party at the end of their stay in San Francisco, but came up blank. He couldn't remember meeting anyone named Guylaine. He glanced at the computer screen where the details of Ramirez's arrival in Toronto glowed in the dim light. He'd flown to Toronto from New Orleans, and Vic couldn't remember having met anyone from that city either. 

Come to think of it, he'd commented on how several large, important cities hadn't been represented at the party. The Director had cut him off, promising to explain later. 

Well, later had just arrived, it seemed. He had the feeling that what ever it was she hadn't told him, it was about to be very important. 

The first traces of the man known as Ramirez had appeared in New Orleans, nearly twenty years earlier when he was apparently in his twenties. He had a string of arrests for petty crimes, gradually working his way up to drug-related charges. He'd spent a total of nearly six years in jail in the first decade. Obviously, if he was Kindred, it had happened after that, since he obviously wasn't in his twenties anymore, and a Kindred certainly wouldn't have survived prison. He wouldn't have been able to avoid sunlight. And yet, if he wasn't Kindred, there should have been more of a paper trail for him. 

It was the sort of puzzle that Vic didn't like. 

He rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of a headache forming. He was missing something, but he wasn't sure what. 

Anyway, somewhere along the line, Ramirez had started showing up with lawyers who managed to get him off on technicalities, and when that didn't work, witnesses recanted, or evidence disappeared from police lockups. All of this added up to new, more powerful friends. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anything to identify those friends. 

Except... 

Vic flipped through pages of information, wondering just where the hand-written surveillance reports had come from. Especially the one splattered with brown specks that his nose told him was old blood. He really needed to have a long talk with his boss. 

Anyway, there was one note of interest in them. Soon after his arrival in New Orleans, Ramirez had started to frequent a punk club called—rather unimaginatively—The Rusty Nail. He'd even spent five years as its manager more than a decade earlier, after gaining those powerful friends. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Ramirez certainly didn't look like the punk type. For one thing, he was much too old. Vic snorted, thinking of the middle-aged, heavy-set man whose picture the Director had shown them. He didn't even look like an aging punk fan. 

Vic sent a quick e-mail to Nathan, telling him to check his archives for any reference to the club. Then he sent a second e-mail to the Director, telling her what he'd found so far and suggesting that they should talk. He didn't like being kept in the dark. 

And if she wasn't willing to answer his questions, he would make a long distance call to San Francisco. If she wouldn't, then maybe Cash would. At least _he_ wouldn't jerk Vic around. He hoped. 

The sound of a key in the lock caught him off-guard. He automatically reached for the gun sitting on the coffee table, half-covered by the spread of papers, but he relaxed even before Mac even stepped into view. 

Mac was almost vibrating. His eyes sparkled with excitement and his natural scent was tinged with sweat and something else that made Vic's nose twitch. A grin quirked the corners of his mouth up into an almost predatory expression. He was dressed all in black and had a bag slung over his shoulder. Obviously, he had been 'working' that night. 

"Already?" Vic asked, almost in disbelief. He found it hard to believe that Mac could have already made his move. Surely he wasn't foolish enough to try without proper preparation if he didn't have to. 

On the other hand, he definitely was skilled enough to do it, Vic knew. 

"Nah," Mac said, dropping his bag on the armchair, then throwing himself on the sofa next to Vic. Vic bounced a little as the younger man landed, then shifted around so that he was lying on his back with his head in Vic's lap, looking up at him. "That's tomorrow. Tonight I broke into the security company the museum uses to get the plans of their setup." 

Vic was finding it hard to concentrate on what his partner was saying. Mac's eyes were dilated until they were almost black and he could smell the musk of the younger man's arousal easily. His black cotton pants did nothing to disguise the bulge of a half-erect cock. Adrenaline obviously had Mac worked up to a fever pitch, and that, combined with the head pressing down against his groin, was quickly driving Vic to a similar state. 

"You broke into a security company's office?" he finally managed to croak through a throat gone dry. "Are you nuts?" 

Mac rolled over and pushed up onto all fours so that he was almost nose to nose with Vic. "Nope," he said with a lazy smile, eyelids dropping to half-mast. "You'd be surprised at just how bad their own security is. On the other hand, they probably count on their reputation to scare off crooks. After all, who would break into the offices of a firm that specializes in security systems? Kinda like those stupid little lights that are supposed to make thieves think that you have an alarm system in your car." 

"If you say so," Vic said, although he was no longer sure just what he was agreeing with. 

And his distraction hadn't escaped Mac's notice either. The world tilted suddenly and Vic found himself hitting the floor next to the sofa with Mac on top of him, fully stretched out. He ignored the sound of his coffee table being pushed out of the way, all his attention taken by the young man whose tongue was already half-way down his throat. 

Growling deep in his throat, Vic started pulling at Mac's clothes. The turtleneck was yanked out from the waistband of Mac's pants and Vic broke the kiss only long enough to pull the fabric up over the other man's head. A voice in the back of his head suggested that this really wasn't the best place to be doing this, but he ignored it. He was too far gone to stop long enough to shift to someplace more comfortable, like the bed. 

Instead, he rolled over on top of Mac, not noticing as the coffee table actually went flying this time. Instead, he sat back on his heels and pulled his own shirt off, tearing at it hard enough that buttons went flying, then undid his jeans. Getting rid of them, as well as boxers and socks, took a little more doing, but he managed to do it without giving Mac the chance to get away. 

Not that Mac was trying. Instead, the younger man was disposing of his own clothes just as quickly, which couldn't be easy with someone sitting on your legs. Vic didn't really notice. His attention was grabbed more by the fact that his partner wasn't wearing any underwear. 

Vic growled and leaned forward over Mac, grinding his groin against the younger man's. He buried his nose in the crook of Mac's neck, inhaling deeply. Mac smelled of sweat and soap, and beneath all that he still smelled of the rival, even stronger than before. 

Not a rival, the voice tried to tell him, but he wasn't listening. 

But that problem was easily taken care of. By the time he was done with Mac, the only thing the man would smell of was _him_. 

Unfortunately, he didn't keep lube in the living room—an error he wouldn't make again—but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Dropping back down onto him full length, he started rubbing himself all over Mac. Bit by bit, that annoying scent was overwhelmed by the smell of their combined arousal. 

"Vic..." Mac groaned. 

With a little wiggling that inspired moans from both of them, Vic managed to work a hand between them to grasp both their erections. Enough pre-cum had flowed to lubricate everything, letting him pump them both together easily. 

Mac was panting heavily, thrusting upwards against Vic. His head was tossed back, exposing his throat. The beast rose up in Vic, growling with hunger, both physical and mental. His fangs were already fully extended and the need was becoming too strong to resist. 

With a growl, he sank his fangs into Mac's neck, not even thinking of using his saliva to anesthetize the area first. Mac's first shout was one more of pain than anything else. 

That pain brought Vic back to his senses. Doing his best to push the Beast back into its cage, he pulled back and licked the sluggishly bleeding area, stopping the flow. At the same time, he slowed his movements, gentling them until Mac started moving in concert with him again. 

Then he dropped his face to the other side of Mac's neck. "Mac?" he asked, feeling guilty for having just taken when he should have asked first. 

There was silence for a moment. Vic looked up to find Mac looking at him with a serious expression. Vic pleaded with his eyes, but stayed silent, not moving other than the gentle rocking that was keeping them both on edge. 

After a moment, Mac seemed to find what he was looking for and he smiled slightly. Then he tilted his head to the side, giving Vic full access. 

This time, Vic took time and care in preparing the way. By the time he felt his lover was ready, Mac was making pleading noises in the back of his throat. When he bit down, the only thing in Mac's cry was pleasure. 

He'd already fed once that night, visiting the Agency infirmary for a baggie of blood. But as he'd noticed before, chilled blood didn't have anywhere near the life of blood taken straight from the vein. Even more to the point, blood from _Mac's_ vein. It exploded across his tongue, burnt down his throat and spread through his body like lightning. 

He pulled back again, this time howling as his orgasm flashed through him, following that lightning, pumping out all over Mac's stomach and chest, while he continued to pull on Mac's erection. He heard a matching howl from his lover as he collapsed on top of him. 

Then everything grayed out. 

* * *

"Damnit, Vic, move! You aren't exactly a lightweight, you know." 

Vic groaned, grasping for the dim comfort of the realm he'd been floating in. Then he realized that Mac was pushing at him, trying to roll him off so that he could breathe. 

"Sorry," he said, shifting to the side. Mac took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh of relief. 

"About bloody time," he said. 

Vic propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Mac. "I mean it, I'm sorry." He reached out and brushed a gentle finger against the side of Mac's throat where a large bruise was starting to form, evidence of just how badly he'd lost it. 

"Hmm? Oh, that. Want to explain it?" 

At least Mac didn't _sound_ overly upset. Taking that as a promising sign, Vic relaxed a little, dabbling his fingers in the mixture of fluids coating Mac's stomach, spreading it around, rubbing it into his skin. On one level, he felt very satisfied with himself. Mac smelt right. 

"Hey, watch it," Mac said, batting Vic's hand away. "It's going to be enough trouble washing that stuff out of my chest hair as it is. Now talk." 

Vic pulled back. "I'm not sure. It was a lot of things. That woman's scent. Your arousal. My want. Hunger. A lot of things. I'm sorry, Mac. I nearly lost control of the Beast." 

Vic wasn't really sure that _he_ accepted that as an excuse, but Mac seemed to think it was adequate. "So this was..." 

"You'd showered, but under it, you still smelt of her. Now you don't." 

Mac snorted. "With this all over me," he said, gesturing at the sticky fluids, "I should think not. If I smell of anyone, it's you." 

That comment made Vic's cock twitch, but it was far too soon for anything to happen. 

Then Mac paused, then frowned at Vic. "That's it, isn't? Shit, what's next, you start piddling on me like you're the biggest, baddest dog on the block?" 

Uh-oh, Vic thought to himself. This is not good. "No! Of course not! At least, I don't think so..." Mac was still glaring. "Listen, I can't explain it. I'm not trying to mark you." 

Mac had sat up and now had his arms crossed over his chest. "You sure about that?" 

Vic dropped back down onto the carpet and covered his eyes. "No," he finally said. "I'm not. All I know is that there is something about her scent that bothers me. I can't explain it, it just is. Anyone else, I don't think it would be as bad." 

"It's not that she's a woman is it?" 

Vic considered that suggestion, then shook his head. "No. I didn't react that way to the scent of the girl you were dancing with, and if anything, her perfume was even stronger on you than this Kata's scent last night." 

"So there was something specific about her. I wonder what." 

About this time, Vic was starting to feel like they were playing a scene from a TV show he had watched a couple of times. "Who the hell knows," he snapped. "Maybe I'm allergic to her. Does it matter?" 

"Well it does if you're going to react this way after every time I meet up with her for this case," was the exasperated reply. Vic opened his mouth, but Mac beat him to it. "And no, I am _not_ going to back out of that part of the plan, so forget it." 

Vic sighed. "I know. I'm not sure _what_ to do, then." He opened his eyes and looked up at Mac, who looked about as frustrated as he felt. At the moment, it seemed like the drawbacks to this Kindred business were heavily outnumbering the advantages. 

"Well, we could always ask the Director for advice. Or maybe Jackie or Dobrinsky." 

Their eyes met and they simultaneously said "Naaaaah." 

"Okay, scratch that idea," Mac said. "Well then, I just make sure I shower and scrub so that if there's any scent left, it's faint enough so that you can control yourself." The look he shot at Vic told him that he was on thin ice and that he damn well _better_ control himself. "And I promise not to tease you like I was earlier." This time Mac looked a little sheepish. 

"Right," Vic said. "Clean, then slow and easy." 

"Hey, I'm not _that_ easy," Mac said in mock outrage. 

Vic snorted. That's not what Vivian Vixen says," he shot back. 

"Oh really? And when have you been talking to her? Taken to visiting the Booty Call?" 

"Please," Vic shot back. "I don't go to those places." 

"Right," Mac drawled. "This from the guy who took LiAnn to a peep show." 

"It was to talk to an informant." 

"Uh-huh. According to her, you were so distracted that she had to do the questioning before you bankrupted the Agency feeding bills to the peep-booth controls." 

"Oh, and you would do any better?" 

"Yeah." 

"Yeah, right." 

They glared at each other for a long minute. Vic clenched his jaw, determined not to give anything away. Damnit, he wasn't going to... 

There was a small sound. Almost nothing, easily passed off as someone clearing his throat. Then it happened again. 

Exercising iron control, Vic watched as Mac's lips started to quiver. The younger man was fighting it, but he finally broke. 

When the first laugh passed Mac's lips, Vic let his own control go, and they both rolled on the ground laughing. The laughter came more from the recent adrenaline rush than the childish game of verbal one-upmanship, but it felt wonderful to release the tension. 

Finally, they sat up, wiping the tears away. By that point, the semen on Mac's chest hair had completely died, matting the hair down in an unappealing way. The smell of sex was already starting to turn unpleasantly stale. 

"So, what have you come up with?" Mac asked, suddenly all business despite the fact that he was sitting bare-assed on the floor of Vic's living room with a hickey on his neck and looking completely debauched. All in all, he was far too distracting for serious conversation. 

Besides, Vic could hear Mac's stomach growling. 

"Why don't you go shower while I put something together for you to eat," he suggested instead. "I'll shower while you eat, then we can talk about plans. I'll even lend you some sweats." 

Mac looked down, then grinned wryly at Vic. "Good idea," he said, pushing to his feet. "Otherwise, I'm going to have to shave my chest to get this stuff off. And maybe tomorrow I should bring some clothes over to store here, just in case?" 

Vic cheered inwardly at the slightly hesitant question, but carefully gave no sign of it. "Good idea," he said mildly. 

He watched silently Mac's ass flex as he headed for the bathroom, reddened by rug burn. Then he got to his feet and headed over to the large picture windows. The Toronto skyscape was a blaze of light, even though all the clubs and bars would have closed by now. At three, nearly four in the morning, Toronto was as quiet as it ever got. 

A shiver ran up and down his spine, shocking him out of his post-coital haze. Vic stood up a little straighter, staring out into the night. Then the feeling disappeared. 

Vic shook his head and pulled the drapes carefully shut before heading to the bedroom to pull on some clothes and to put out some sweats for Mac. In the bathroom, he could hear the sound of water running and Mac singing something unrecognizable, and he had to resist the urge to join the younger man. 

But while the feeling might be gone, but it had left unease in its wake. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. He just wasn't sure who. Kata, like at the farm? Someone else working for Ramirez? Someone working for the Director? Then again, did it matter? Whoever it was, he was going to find them and teach them not to poke their noses where they weren't wanted. 

Back in the living room, he put the furniture back in place and collected the scattered papers from the floor and piled them neatly so he and Mac could go through them. Then he headed for his kitchen himself to see if the grocery fairies had come by while he was asleep. 

* * *

March 2000   
For those who haven't read book one of the Carpe Noctem series, San Francisco Meetings (available on my webpage as a single zipped text file :>) here are the basics.  
This is a Vampire The Masquerade world. The Director is Ventrue and Prince of Toronto. Periodically, the Princes come together to discuss cooperation. For the latest meeting, the Director decided to take along her favorite team, planning on finally telling them about the Kindred, since she has plans for them to be Embraced. She's even picked out the clans she wants them for.  
Unfortunately, things didn't work _quite_ like she planned.  
Mac ends up the focus of a lot of attention, both good and bad, due to his remarkable resemblance to an executed Toreador musician, Zane (also played by Ivan Sergei on Kindred: The Embraced in the episode Live Hard, Die Young and Leave a Good-Looking Corpse).  
Among the good are Cash, the Gangrel Primogen and the Prince of San Francisco's right-hand man and lover. They have a brief vacation fling. On a night out, they meet the bad. Namely a Brujah thug named Marcus, who decides that Mac is Zane and that the prince, Julian Luna, lied about Zane being executed. He breaks truce to attack Mac. The attack fails and Mac learns about the Kindred.  
Hunted by everyone for breaking truce, Marcus decided to kill Mac. He kidnaps LiAnn and uses her for bait. However, Vic spoils his plans by taking the bullet meant for Mac.  
Vic dying, his only chance is Cash. Even though it could mean a death sentence for both him and Vic, Cash gives in to Mac's pleading and Embraces Vic.  
When the Director and Luna are informed of what happened, Luna agrees to spare both Cash and Vic, provided that Vic leaves San Francisco, returning to Toronto. The Director, to make sure that Vic can travel safely, takes drastic measures.  
The most important thing for a newly-Embraced fledgeling to learn is the ability to control the blood hunger. To force Vic to learn that control, she locks Vic and Mac in a room together. If Vic doesn't control himself, Mac is the one he'll kill.  
Needless to say, he learns that control. However, the next night, the Director manipulates things a step further. Ordering Vic to drink her blood, she uses the resulting blood-bond to manipulate Vic into having sex with Mac. Vic doesn't realize what happened, and while Mac has suspicions, he decides not to tell Vic, knowing that it would destroy any hopes of their developing a _real_ relationship.  
At the end of the week, the Toronto contingent head home. Thanks to her ordeal, LiAnn is wary of any Kindred, including her partner and former fiancee, Vic. On their arrival, the Director hands Vic over to Moira, clan leader of the Gangrel in Toronto, for training. This is the last that Mac will see of him until that training is over.  
Book Two starts nearly two months later.  
(Cool, the summary sounds even better than the story really is )   
Lianne Burwell   
Series Summary: After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac.  
Chapter Summary: His training over, Vic heads back to work.  
I don't own the characters or the world. They are owned respectively by Alliance, Aaron Spelling and White Wolf Games. However, the story is my own invention.  
My other fanfic, including Always a Thief stories, can be found at: <http://www.squidge.org/~lianne>  
The Once a Thief slash story archive, Wild OaTs can also be found at: [http://www.techplus.com/slashvillage/oat](http://www.techplus.com/slashvillage/oat/)  
For more great Once a Thief stories, check out the Red and the Black archives at [http://www.squidge.org../oat.htm](http://www.squidge.org/ratb/agency/)  
All Around You, a Kindred: The Embraced slash list information and archive can be found at: [http://internetdump.com/users/ravens_lament](http://internetdump.com/users/ravens_lament/)  
Feedback can be sent to [email removed]   
---


	4. Book II: Dancing on Wire 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.

**Dancing on Wire  
by Lianne Burwell  
**

Carpe Noctem Book Two 

  
**Chapter Eight**

In the bathroom, Mac sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. He smelt of sweat, dry semen and a variety of other scents that didn't really combine well, his chest hair was quickly cementing to his chest, and his ass stung like a bitch from the rug burn. 

Not that he was complaining, mind you. The sex had been fantastic, once Vic had gotten himself back under control. However, he was probably going to be doing his job standing up the next day, and Vic had better not be hoping for a repeat any time soon. Still, all in all, Mac felt completely sated 

He also felt a little guilty too. He _had_ been teasing Vic unmercifully from the moment he'd come in the door. And after the previous two nights, he should have known better than to push the man the way he had. On the other hand, he thought he _had_ successfully gotten rid of Kata's scent in his earlier shower. After all, it had been a fully day since he'd seen her. 

Hadn't it? 

Mac stopped and stared at the mirror, idly noting the size of the hickey on his neck, and shivered. For a moment, he felt like someone had walked over his grave. He just couldn't pin down _why_. 

Then he shook it off and stepped into the shower after taking off his pendant and hanging from the door knob. 

The water was so hot that his skin was red within seconds and he breathed a sigh of relief. His back was knotted with tension from the break in—he hadn't told Vic about the security guard who'd almost stumbled over him, knowing what the reaction would be. He'd been in a hell of a lot lighter spots, even as a kid, so he'd kept his cool. Besides, he _had_ gotten the information he was after, and that was what counted. 

Relaxing under the pounding spray, Mac hunted through the steam for the soap. He was a little surprised to find liquid soap instead of bars. On the other hand, it _was_ Ivory Soap, which he _had_ excepted. Mac squirted some into his hand, then set to cleaning himself of _all_ foreign substances and scents. 

* * *

Mac came out of the shower even more relaxed than when he'd climbed in. The last signs of tension were gone, and he'd finally managed to get the dried semen out of his chest hair without having to resort to Vic's razor. Delicious scents filled the air, so he toweled off quickly, put his pendant back on, then went into the bedroom. The promised sweats were waiting, laid out on the bed, so he dressed and went looking for Vic. 

Vic was in the kitchen, serving up a plate of food. Chicken and vegetables sautéed in some sort of sauce on top of noodles. Quick and easy. A bottle of Mac's favorite Chinese beer was already waiting on the table, beads of condensation running down the green glass. A pair of fine lacquered chopsticks sat next to them. He hadn't even known that Vic _owned_ a pair of chopsticks. 

Mac frowned. The food also looked very fresh. "You've found an all-night grocery in the area?" he asked in disbelief. He'd been looking for one within easy distance for months, since the job didn't usually lend itself to regular work hours. 

"Nope," Vic said, settling down to watch Mac eat. "Whoever stocks my fridge with blood also brings me fresh food to play with from time to time." 

"Hey! How come _I_ don't get home grocery delivery?" he said in mock-outrage, lowering his chopsticks. 

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that I can only go out at night? After all, time spent grocery shopping is time they can't get me to work." 

"Oh. Makes sense, I guess," Mac said, feeling a little guilty again. 

Vic looked towards the covered windows, a frustrated expression on his face. "There's only so many hours in the night," he said softly. Then he brightened up. "It'll be better come winter when the nights are longer, I suppose." 

Now Mac was feeling _very_ guilty. He looked down at his plate, all appetite suddenly gone. "I'm sorry." 

Vic seemed to drag his attention back to the here and now. "Sorry for what?" he asked, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. 

"Well, it's my fault that#151;" 

Vic cut him off. "Enough with the hair-shirt routine," he said in an exasperated tone. "If anything is your fault, it's the fact that I'm here to have this argument. Or is that what you're sorry about?" 

Mac glared at him. "Of course not. But you're stuck with all the drawbacks of being a vampire because you stepped in front of a bullet meant for me." 

"And if you hadn't, I wouldn't have known to ask Cash to change you, so you would have been _permanently_ dead. And from what the Director said, I would have still ended up like this. The only difference is that you would have been dead. Sorry if I can't get upset about that." 

"And you probably would have been Brujah too," Mac added with a shudder, remembering the San Francisco Kindred thug who had been behind the bullet that had nearly killed Vic, not to mention who'd kidnapped and traumatized the still-absent LiAnn. 

"Exactly. A fate worse than death. Now, would you please finish eating before your dinner gets cold? I spent a lot of time on it, and we do still have a job to do." 

Feeling a little better, Mac took a gulp of his beer, then picked up his chopsticks again. The food was really good. Surprisingly so, since Vic didn't eat anymore. 

"How do you get the spices right?" he asked out of curiosity. "I mean, I thought you couldn't eat real food anymore." 

Vic shrugged. "Well, the taste of food is based mostly on its scent, you know," he said. "I flavor it based just on how it smells." 

"Is that why you're still cooking? The smell is as good as eating the food?" 

"That and the fact that you seem to live on take-out. You might consider learning to cook yourself." 

Mac waved the suggestion off. "Why should I when I have you around to cook for me?" He let his grin tell Vic that he didn't really mean it the way it might sound. 

"Riiight," Vic drawled. "And we _are_ all supposed to have hobbies, you know. Agency orders. So what's your hobby?" 

Mac thought of the sketchpad back at his apartment and smiled what he hoped was a mysterious smile. "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll show you one day." 

Vic leaned forward. "Really? Let me guess, knowing you it has something to do with sex." 

"Maybe. Then again, maybe not," Mac said teasingly. 

Vic grinned, but both of them knew that they didn't really have time for a second round. Instead, Vic stood up. "Well, I'm going to go clean up. If you finish before I do, the files on Ramirez are sitting on the coffee table. Maybe you can see something I'm missing." 

He headed for the bedroom, and Mac watched him go, idly moving food from plate to mouth. He still couldn't believe how well Vic had adjusted to his undead state. Then again, as Vic had pointed out, it was a hell of a lot better than being dead. And someday he would be joining Vic in that Kindred state. It was still hard to believe that he could settle down with one person, and even harder to believe that if he settled down with Vic, it could for more than the standard mortal few decades. In a way, it was almost scary. He hadn't been able to make a relationship last more that six months yet. Did he really think he could go longer with Vic without one of them getting tired of the other? 

Well, maybe he'd find out. In the meantime, the last noodle was gone and he ran his index finger through the last of the sauce before lifting the finger to his mouth and sucking it clean. Just the simple act of cleaning off his finger was enough to bring sex back to his mind. 

Refusing to give in to the urge to go join Vic in _his_ shower, Mac pushed away from the table. Vic didn't have a dishwasher, so he put his plate and chopsticks in the sink with the dishes his dinner had been prepared in. Then he headed out to the living room and the waiting files. 

He shuffled through the piles of paper, stopping every so often to read something that caught his eye. He'd always driven LiAnn nuts that way. She preferred to organize everything, whether by date or name or some other significant factor, then read through every piece of information in a methodical way. Mac, on the other hand, preferred to work more on instinct. His first pass, he would skim through, not really reading, just looking for key words that jumped out at him. Anything that caught his eye was set aside to read in greater detail. 

Ten minutes later, he'd sorted the piles into 'very interesting,' 'sort of interesting' and 'completely useless.' The shower had just turned off and he was about to start reading the 'very interesting' pile. He rubbed his chin, feeling the rasp of whiskers against his fingers, and picked up the first report and started to read it in depth. 

"Find anything interesting yet?" 

Mac nearly jumped out of his skin at the quiet question. "Make some noise, would you?" he snapped. 

Vic raised his hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." His hair was still wet and all he'd bothered to pull on was a pair of sweatpants. Mac was struck again at just how much muscle definition Vic had added since his Embrace. It really, _really_ looked good on him, but they didn't have the time to go there. Mac made a mental note to make a long, thorough examination later, when they had time for the number of hours that would take. 

Instead, he sighed. "No, it's all right. I guess I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings. And just a few vague thoughts. I need to do more reading first." 

"All right. Coffee?" 

"Thanks." 

* * *

By the time dawn approached, they'd gone through Mac's 'very interesting' pile and had made a dent in the 'sort of interesting' one. They'd discussed Mac's sorting techniques, the reasons for dividing the documents the way he had and the information they'd gone through. 

Unfortunately, Mac hadn't come up with much more than Vic had. Ramirez definitely wasn't Kindred. Vic gave him a quick run-down on just what a Ghoul was— something that gave Mac the willies—and they agreed that Ramirez probably wasn't one of those either. There wasn't any _real_ evidence that he was even working for a Kindred, but Mac's instincts, like Vic's, said that it was likely. 

Something was tugging at Mac's memory, though. He ran a finger down the list of points he'd made on a yellow legal pad, trying to figure out what it was. 

"I've got a few questions for the Director," Vic muttered, going over his own list. "I don't remember meeting anyone from New Orleans at Luna's bash. We need to know what the Kindred situation is in New Orleans." 

"Think she'll tell us anything?" Mac said wryly. 

"If she won't, I'll call Cash. He gave me his number." 

For a moment, Mac was almost blinded by the flash as his memory finally kicked in. "Cash, of course!" 

"Hmm?" 

Mac shook his head. "Sorry. I just finally remembered something Cash told me the morning after your Embrace. We were talking about the Brujah in San Francisco and he was telling me about Luna's niece." Mac closed his eyes, remembering the pain in Vic's Sire's face. "Luna had given permission for Cash to Embrace her, but the previous Brujah Primogen sent a thug to forcefully Embrace her as Brujah. He eventually what was coming to him, and in a very messy way." 

"And the point of this little story would be...?" Vic prompted. 

"The point is, he said that when Sasha couldn't adjust in San Francisco, she left town, and the last he'd heard, she was rising through the Brujah ranks in New Orleans." 

"So there is definitely a Kindred presence in New Orleans. I wonder why their Prince didn't show at the meetings." 

At that moment, the phone rang. 

Vic groaned. "Please tell me that isn't Ramirez," he said to the ceiling. "It's too late in the night for that." 

The phone kept ringing. Finally, Vic picked it up. "Yes?" he said. Then he groaned again—if you could call it that when you made all the expressions, but none of the sounds—and pressed the speaker button. 

"Thank you, Victor." The Director. Of course. How convenient. Mac looked around, speculating on where the cameras would be. 

"Now, the reason you didn't meet the Prince of New Orleans in San Francisco is because there isn't one. New Orleans is a... border town, for lack of a better term." 

Mac frowned. "Border between what?" he asked suspiciously. 

There was a theatrical sigh from the speaker. "Kindred aren't the only not quite humans out there. Even werewolves are just a scratching on the surface. As well, within each species, there are sects. New Orleans is a place where they can all come together and mix freely. No one claims the city, and if someone tried... Well, they'd be disposed of. Quickly." 

"By sects, you mean the clans?" Vic asked. 

"Not entirely. Did Moira ever mention the Camarilla?" 

Vic shook his head. "Just in reference to you and your 'lapdogs,' as she put it." 

There was a tapping noise. "I'm going to have to have a talk with that girl, the Director muttered softly. Then she raised her voice. "There are many ways to look at factions with the Kindred, clans being just one of them and cities a second. But the largest division is between the Camarilla and the Sabbat." 

Sabbat. Just the name sent chills down Mac's back, and not the pleasant kind either. He glanced at Vic and saw that the older man's expression matched what _he_ felt: dread mixed with resignation. These sorts of surprises seemed pretty... unsurprising when you worked for the Agency. 

They stared at each other for a minute, neither seeming willing to ask the inevitable question. Finally, Vic sighed and said, "All right, we'll bite. What exactly is the Sabbat?" 

They could hear the Director chuckle at the phrasing. "Well, you don't really to know _exactly_ what they are. The shortest answer is, we are the Camarilla and they are the enemy, and that's all you need to know, but I doubt you'll settle for just that." 

"Damn right," Mac muttered under his breath. Trusting the Director is not something you did if you wanted to stay alive. While she could be trusted to _some_ extent, she would sacrifice them all in a second to get the job, whatever it was, done. It was why she was the Director and they weren't, he supposed. 

"Well, I give you the almost a simple explanation then. The Camarilla want to live side by side with humans, and formed the Masquerade to do so. The Sabbat don't think of humanity as anything other than a food source. Cities they control tend to have runaway crime and violence. They are the worst of our kind." 

"Worse than the Brujah?" Mac said a little louder this time, unable to keep from sneering. 

"Mac, your prejudices are showing," the Director said, tsking. "And yes they are. One little example should do, I think. 

"For the most part, the Sabbat choose who to Embrace just as carefully as the Camarilla do. The basic Embrace is even the same. Then they bury the fledgling." 

"They what?" Vic broke in, looking a little green. 

"They bury them. After bashing them over the head with the shovel. If they survive to dig themselves out, they are welcomed into the family, so to speak. If they aren't strong enough, they die. Permanently. And surviving that doesn't guarantee that you won't be disposed of later on for not being strong enough or vicious enough." 

Mac was starting to feel a little nauseous himself at that point. "Point taken," he said. "Sabbat bad, Camarilla... not completely bad." 

The Director chuckled again. "Exactly. So being from New Orleans means that Ramirez, if he reports to a Kindred, could be a servant of a member of either the Sabbat or the Camarilla." Then her voice turned icy. "If it is a move by the Sabbat on Toronto, it end _now_. I will not have my city turned into a bloodbath." 

Mac gulped at the venom in her voice, but agreed completely. If the Sabbat was as bad as she said, he wouldn't want that either. 

"Understood," Vic said, then hit the disconnect button. 

"Just when I think things can't get any weirder," Mac muttered to himself. 

"Well, now we know that I could have done a lot worse than Brujah," Vic said. 

"I'm still not sure about that one," Mac said. "So, now what?" 

"Well, Ramirez still needs to make up his mind. In the meantime, he's lost one processing plant, so he needs to set up somewhere else. That means he needs some specialized equipment. I'm sure that the Director can trace those sorts of purchases." 

"Right. And I still have a museum to break into." 

"You sure you can do it?" 

Mac glared at Vic, pissed at the worry in the man's voice. "Are you kidding? I could do this in my sleep. In fact, why don't you come along and see." 

The phone rang again. Vic just hit the speaker button. 

"Remember boys, no Agency help means _no_ Agency help. Victor stays out of it, understood?" 

Mac sighed and grimaced. "Understood," he said. "Spoilsport," he added under his breath as Vic hung up again. He was kind of hoping he _could_ take Vic along, if only to show off. The disappointed expression on his lover's face seemed to say that Vic wanted to come along too. 

"Dawn's almost here," Vic said, glancing at the heavily shrouded windows. "You staying?" 

Mac shook his head regretfully. "Sorry. I've got a lot of preparation for tonight." 

"All right. Well, I guess I'll see you after you pull off the break-in of the decade, even if it's one that hopefully no one will ever know about." 

"Decade?" Mac sniffed. "Try the century." 

"Whatever. Just be back here well before dawn or I'm coming looking for you. Got it?" 

"Got it," Mac said, smiling slightly. He carefully put aside the papers they'd been going through and headed for the door, stopping to collect the jacket he'd discarded earlier. Much earlier. 

"And Mac?" 

He stopped at the door, looking back at where Vic sat in a puddle of light cast by a floor lamp. "Yeah?" 

"Be careful." 

For a moment, the soft comment almost raised his ire again, but then he smiled. "Careful is my middle name. You know me, Vic." 

As he closed the door, he heard a muttered, "Too well. That's why I worry." 

Mac chuckled as he headed down the hallway for the stairwell. 

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

When Vic woke, it was early evening and he had the start of a pounding headache. He sat up and winced as the many aches and pains made themselves felt. Glancing around, he realized that dawn had caught him going over his notes in the living room, where he'd gone back to the files after Mac had left, and he'd simply collapsed where he was, sitting on the couch. No wonder he felt as if he'd been twisted into a pretzel. It was a good thing that the drapes were pulled tightly shut. Otherwise, he'd already be dust. 

He stood and stretched, wincing at the popping sounds coming from his joints, then headed for the kitchen. A mug of bagged blood went into the microwave long enough to reach... well, blood temperature, then he drank it quickly, trying to ignore the rather lifeless quality to it. 

After that, a long stay under the spray of a very hot shower with use of the showerhead's massage features. By the time he turned the water off, he'd probably used a week's worth of hot water, but he felt reasonably 'human' again. A quick shave, clean jeans, a T-shirt and his favorite boots and he felt ready to face the night. 

That was when he noticed the light flashing on his cell-phone, telling him that he had a message waiting. He picked up the compact device and flipped it open—as always, resisting the urge to say "beam me up, Scotty"—and punched in the code to retrieve the message. 

"Mr. Mansfield," Ramirez's voice said from the tiny ear-piece, his annoyance clear, even in a recording. "It is one in the afternoon and you are obviously ignoring your phone. Not the proper behavior of someone hoping to do business. Do call me at the club. At your earliest convenience, of course," he added sarcastically, then thoughtfully provided the phone number before hanging up. 

Instead of calling Ramirez right back, Vic dialed a different number. "He called," he said briefly. "Any preferences on how to play this?" 

There was a long pause before the Director answered. "Come down here to make the call. That way I can monitor things." 

Vic snorted. "You can obviously monitor things _here_ just fine," he said, a bit surprised at how little bitterness he felt at that, even though he still planned to hunt down and remove those cameras and microphones. 

"True," she replied, no apology for it in her voice. Not that he'd _expected_ any. "But it's more difficult to whisper in your ear from this distance. Sunset is in twenty minutes. Be here in forty-five." 

"Yes ma'am," he told the dial tone sarcastically. 

* * *

Vic nodded to a few of the evening regulars as he headed down the hallway to the Director's favorite briefing room. None of them were Kindred or Ghoul, and he figured that they didn't know anything about that side of the Agency either. Part of him wanted to should "How can you not see?" at them, but then he remembered that he had worked for the Agency for more than six years without ever realizing that his boss was anything but what she seemed to be: A cold, manipulative bitch who had the occasional flash of a more sympathetic nature. 

Well, maybe that assessment was a little unfair. But she did have her bad days. He hoped that this wasn't going to be one of them. 

She was waiting for him, casually seated in the swivel chair behind her very modern looking desk, wearing something a little slinkier than usual. The bodysuit was made of black leather that was so tight and shiny that it looked like she had taken a quick dip in a pool of crude oil. Vic shifted uneasily, trying to ignore a flash of arousal at the sight. He wasn't really attracted to her, but was helpless to fight the feeling. He just thanked his lucky stars that she'd never turned the full force of her sexuality on him the way she seemed to delight doing to Mac. No wonder the young man got twitchy every time he was in the same room as her. 

She tapped a long fingernail on the top of the desk in front of her. "Very good, Victor. You're actually two minutes early. I do like promptness in an agent. Now, we have a phone call to make, do we not?" 

Vic moved around the desk to stand behind her as she pressed a button on her phone, and the sound of ringing filled the air. A moment later, it stopped. 

"What?" 

My, my. Ramirez sounded irritated, Vic thought to himself. "You wanted to talk to me?" he asked, allowing amusement to bleed into his voice. 

"Took you long enough. Don't you check your messages?" 

Vic leaned back against the edge of the desk, a picture of casual. The Director frowned at him, but he was immersing himself in the role he needed to play. "Of course I do. However, I also have a job to do. I called as soon as I had a moment free." 

"You should have found one sooner if you really want to do business with me." 

Vic snorted softly. "We have a product and a service that can be sold anywhere. We don't have to do business with you." 

"If you want to do business in _my_ town you do." 

The Director bristled at that comment, and Vic prayed that she could hang on to her temper. Ramirez was treading on her position as Prince of Toronto and she was obviously furious at the man. "Whatever. So what's the word?" 

There was a pause. "I want proof that you can sell me what you are claiming. A dose of Candy and a sample of your enhanced street drugs. My people will examine them, make sure that you aren't cheating me." 

Vic laughed harshly. "Fat chance, Ramirez," he said, ignoring the hand gestures from his boss. "The second, fine, but we are not handing over a sample of Candy for your chemists to analyze and duplicate. That, you get when we have an agreement ironed out. Capiche?" 

"All right. Bring examples of your jazzed up versions of street drugs to the club tonight. If they are everything you say they are, we'll deal for the process and the Candy. We might even be able to come up with a research and manufacturing deal for the future. I trust this is acceptable?" Ramirez added sarcastically. 

"It will do for now. I'll be by later tonight, then." 

"Try not to make it _too_ late," Ramirez said, then hung up before Vic could reply. 

Vic slumped in reaction to the release of the tension from the last few minutes, then looked to the Director, waiting for her verdict. 

"Well played," she said grudgingly. "But risky. What if he turned you down?" 

"Then I would have backed down on the Candy issue," Vic replied. "But if I can do this without allowing anyone outside the Agency a shot at Candy, I will. Any objections?" 

"None at all," she said soothingly. 

"Good." 

"Well, the conversation also confirms what Agency sources are saying: Ramirez hasn't been having much luck in replacing some of the more specialized equipment that was destroyed in the explosion at the farm. Unless he finds some way of importing it, or another source locally, he's not going to be able to fill the demand he's been creating. If that happens, angry customers are going to be coming after him." 

"Just what this city needs: a drug war," Vic muttered to himself. "I assume you'll have those samples for me?" he asked, raising his voice. 

The Director pushed an ornate box towards him. He opened it and found it spit into several padded compartments. Each compartment held a small glass jar, tightly sealed with wax and clearly labeled as to the contents. 

He closed the lid with a snap. Despite the beautiful exterior, the box made him sick to his stomach. The cop in him was protesting, and all he could do was remind himself that even cops used drugs as bait to stop the distribution of even more drugs. He still didn't like it. 

He put the box to the side. "Any luck tracking this Guylaine person he's working for?" 

The Director's expression immediately closed up. "That does not concern you." 

The only thing was, Vic was _not_ going to take that as an answer. Not this time. "The last time you said that, Mac, LiAnn and I ended up in a warehouse rigged to blow. You were so focused on stopping Pucci that you were willing to hand Mac and LiAnn over to a man who wanted to kill them." 

"I didn't know what Michael was planning#151;" she started to say. 

"That's the point!" Vic broke in harshly. "You _should_ have known. You, of all people, should have known better than to just take him at face value. But you were so blinded by a personal vendetta that you didn't even _try_ to find out what he was really up to. Well, I'm not going to let that happen again." 

The Director stood slowly, and Vic started to wonder if maybe he'd pushed her too far this time. Her eyes were glowing a brilliant silver and her lips were drawn back in a grimace that showed, all to clearly, her fangs. Vic gulped. He'd never seen her so... not human before. "I am your Prince and you will not question me," she hissed. 

"I am one of your agents and I will," Vic said firmly, even though he couldn't stop himself from backing away physically. 

She snarled at him, then swept past. He almost collapsed in relief when he realized that she wasn't going to just kill him for questioning her, but she still hadn't told him what he wanted to know yet, and this case was reaching the point where he wasn't going to risk his life or Mac's by continuing without _all_ the information available. 

The Director was pacing the full length of the room, looking very deadly and more agitated than Vic could remember ever seeing her. It was rather unnerving, considering how calm and collected she usually was, even under the most tense of situations. 

Suddenly, she stopped dead in the middle of the room and turned to face him. Vic stayed as still as possible, feeling like something small and fluffy under the eye of a predator. 

Then she sighed, and the silver glow faded from her eyes. "Guylaine is my sister." 

* * *

I was born in France in 1773 to a minor noble family. Little rank and even less money. Guylaine was six years older than me and I adored her. She was beautiful and kind and witty, everything I wanted to be. Our father had high hopes for her too. When she was nineteen, he sent her to court as a lady in waiting to the queen, Marie Antoinette. He hoped that she would catch the eye of a rich man who would either marry her without the usual fat dowry or at least take her as a mistress. Don't look so shocked. It was a good way for a beautiful woman of few means to become rich, and our father was definitely a pragmatist. 

Anyway, I was young and missed her desperately. I begged my father to send me to Paris to be with her, but he refused. I thought he was just being cruel. What I didn't know was that unrest was spreading through the lower classes, and while he wasn't worried enough to summon Guylaine home, he was not willing to send his only other daughter into potential danger. 

We lived in the country, and I was rather isolated from the real world. So, for the next few years I read her letters and dreamt of the apparently ideal life she was living, looking forward to the day when I would join her and find myself a dashing young lord who would love and marry me, making my life perfect. Like I said, I was naïve. Needless to say, I never got the chance. The revolution happened first. 

I'm sure you learned all about the French Revolution in school; everyone does. All the reasons that it happened, the stresses and excesses. But they don't teach you about the most important cause because they don't know about it. 

For centuries, France, and especially Paris, had been under the control of the Camarilla, and it was in their best interests to keep things peaceful, or at least stable. Then the Sabbat turned their eyes towards Paris, and where the Sabbat goes, violence soon follows. 

They begin by destabilizing the structure of society, increasing the conflict between groups—the classes in this case—until the Prince of the city cannot keep the peace. Then, when the violence breaks out, they use it as a cover as they pick off the Prince's defenders one by one until the Camarilla are so weak that they can no longer hold the city. This is what they were doing in Paris at the end of the eighteenth century, although I did not learn this until later. 

At first, the Revolution did not affect me. My family was, if not well-liked in the are, at least tolerated as being better than most. After the seizing of the Bastille, noble families agreed to give up their privileges, and the common folk took control of the government, This was the Camarilla's counter to the first feint. It didn't work. When I was nineteen, the reign of terror began and the Sabbat's attack had begun in earnest. 

When I was twenty, the Revolution came to me. The estate was attacked by peasants from the surrounding areas. In Paris, Madame Guillotine had begun her bloody work and she was hungry for more victims, preferably of the blue-blood kind. Rumor had it that the bodies were bled to feed the Sabbat afterwards, although I doubt that. They enjoy the hunt too much to take blood from the dead. 

By that time, there'd been no word from Guylaine for more than a year. 

I may have been naïve, but my father was not. When the attack came, I was bundled into the filthy clothes of a peasant girl, with coins sewed into the hems. He led me out of the estate through a hidden passage and we thought we had gotten away cleanly. Then, the next day, we were attacked by a band of thieves, one of the many roaming the countryside. My father was killed and I... well, let's not go there. 

Luckily, they didn't find the money in my clothing, and once they were done, I pulled my clothes straight and headed for Paris on my own. It took me weeks to get there. While I was no longer quite as innocent as I had been, my plans were still to find my sister. Once I reached Paris, though, I quickly lost hope and concentrated instead on survival. 

I'll spare you the details of how I survived, but survive I did. The streets of Paris were dangerous in those dark days, from gangs in the day and the Sabbat by night. Both hunted with impunity. Still, I survived and, to a certain extent, thrived. I gathered a new family of women and youngsters who would otherwise have been easy prey. Together, we were strong enough to defend ourselves. And I quickly learned to look back on my childhood and sneer. 

Then, one night, a lookout called that hunters were coming. We prepared, but in the end, we failed. Our group had been successful enough to attract the wrong sort of attention. The hunters overran us and we died, one by one. I had managed to kill one, I think, when I was grabbed from behind and slammed into a wall. I looked up... 

Into the eyes of my long-grieved sister. 

Guylaine was as beautiful as I remembered, but her eyes glowed silver, blood was smeared around her mouth and her expression was cruel beyond belief. She stared at me for a long moment and I was chilled to the bone. Then she smiled and dropped me, turning to her companions who had finished their havoc. "This one lives," she said. Then they vanished, leaving me behind with the bodies of my adopted family. 

After that, I survived alone. I had lost two families now, and I wasn't about to make _that_ mistake again. And finally, after several long, terrifying years, the Camarilla launched their counter-attack. They tried replacing Napoleon, the Camarilla champion, with the last of the royal family not once, but twice. When that didn't work, they created the Republic and finally regained control of the city. Bit by bit, peace returned to Paris. 

But it had come at a price. The Camarilla had regained Paris, but they had lost many of their ranks. They hunted Paris, like the Sabbat had, but for potential childer instead of prey. A Ventrue saw me and decided that I had potential. She tested me, found me acceptable and Embraced me. And Victor, I had no more choice in the matter than you did. 

So now you know. 

* * *

Vic shook his head, shaking off the spell of the story. It would make one hell of a movie. Still, he'd known that the Director was older than looked, but more than two hundred years? "Did you ever find out what happened to your sister? Before you ran into her, that is." 

The Director shrugged elegantly. "Some. Actually, she did just as our father had asked: she became mistress to a rich and powerful man, an envoy from Prague. Unfortunately, he was also Lasombra, a Sabbat spy and saboteur who had managed to fool the Prince of the city. He Embraced her. And Victor, if you thought _your_ Embrace was painful, the Sabbat are far worse. Their Embrace ends by burying the fledgling alive. If they can't dig themselves free, they are considered too weak to be Sabbat and are destroyed. Guylaine, needless to say, was strong enough." 

"But she let you live, so she couldn't be all bad." 

That provoked laughter brittle enough to make Vic wince. "She let me live because I was entertainment. Over the next century, both before and after my Embrace, she played a cat and mouse game with me. Those around me died while I was untouched. Wherever I went, she followed, playing her game. Then she vanished, about the same time that I came to Toronto. I heard that she'd gone to Russia, and the communist revolution twenty years later seemed to confirm that." 

Vic leaned back in his seat, considering the ceiling. It was covered with a layer of metal, he noticed for the first time, and there were a few dents in the shine. He wondered just how hard something would have to be thrown to reach the high ceiling with enough force to dent even thin metal. "So you think she's starting the game again," he said mildly. 

"Probably." 

"And agents who work for you are probably at risk." 

"Yes. Dobrinsky as well, as my Childe." 

"Any pictures of Guylaine?" Vic asked, still not looking at his boss. "Could this Kata person be her in disguise?" 

She snorted. "Not likely. Guylaine is too vain to disguise herself, including her rather vivid green eyes. I doubt that the dark-eyed Kata would be her. But to answer your first question, no. Lasombra cast no shadows, so they cannot be photographed. Any portraits of her would have been destroyed during the revolution and I don't think that she would have had any painted since then." 

"So Kata isn't her, but she does work for her, so her orders might be to get close to Mac and then kill him." 

"Possibly." 

Now Vic sat up, eyes glowing and fangs fully out. "But you didn't think it was important to let us know about this?" he shouted at full roar. 

The Director's eyes flashed, but she didn't move a muscle. "Don't yell at me, little boy," she hissed. "I decide what you need to know, and you live with it." 

"Or die by it if you make the wrong decision." 

"Do you think you can do the job better? Be a better Prince." 

Vic was starting to get really nervous now. He'd never seen his boss lose her temper before, but it looked like he was about to. "No. In fact, I think I'd make a lousy Prince." Her temper seemed to drain away. A little. "Doesn't change the fact that when it's _personal_ for you, you develop blind spots large enough to hide an elephant." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Vic was looking around for an escape route. Even when he'd thought she was human, he'd known that defying her was a very bad idea. Even though she had a lot of affection for them, she was ruthless enough to sacrifice them at a moment's notice, even on a whim. But he wasn't about to take back anything he'd said. The stakes were too high this time. 

For a moment, though, he did think that after being frustrated by Cash's intervention, Death was going to catch up with him. He braced himself, apologizing mentally to Mac. 

Then the Director seemed to collapse in on herself, suddenly looking her age. "Perhaps you're right," she said with a sigh. "But I don't want this to become common knowledge," she added, with a hint of steel already returning to her voice. 

"Mac needs to know." 

"And you can tell him about Guylaine. But no one else." 

Vic nodded, relieved that she was going to be so... reasonable. Their eyes met for a long moment, and he froze. The moment had passed and the Prince was back in charge. 

The sound of her swivel chair was deafening in the silence as she turned away, breaking eye-contact. "You still have a meeting with Ramirez to go to," she pointed out. 

Taking the hint, Vic grabbed the sample box and beat a hasty retreat. 

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Mac was whistling and a wide grin threatened to split his face by the time he made it back to his car. Everything had gone exactly the way he had planned, almost scarily so. He'd proven he still had his touch, and he mentally vowed never again to let so much time go by without exercising his old training. 

A little observation the night before had found him the door that the security guards used for their smoke breaks, and assuming that they would be too lazy to be constantly disarming and arming the alarms on that door, he'd used for his entry into the museum. That assumption was the only real risk in the whole caper. 

From there it had been by the numbers. The latest in break-in clothing had fooled the heat sensors, while the motion detectors had been old enough that simply moving slowly and deliberately was enough to keep from setting them off. Timing and convenient shadows had kept him from being noticed by anyone who might be monitoring the security cameras. All in all, the path had been so easy that he was seriously considering writing up a report and sending it to the ROM to let them know just how lousy their security was. Really, it was almost insulting. 

Getting the bracelet into the case with the sarcophagus had been a little more problematic, though. His break-in at the security company's office had told him that the glass case was wired to detect breakage or even just opening, while the base had weight sensors that would notice and increase or decrease in the weight resting on it. He could have disconnected the system, but that would have been more likely to be noticed. Besides, his method was more fun. 

So, instead he'd used a few drops of acid near the edge where the glass case met the base, where the hole wouldn't be noticed without looking closely. Then he neutralized the acid so that he could use the hole to insert a flexible wire with the bracelet attached to one end. It was just a matter of getting it into position, a quick twist to release the gold chain, then a careful withdrawal of the wire. 

Damn he was good. 

After that, it was just a matter of retracing his steps and getting out without being seen by any nicotine addicts, then sauntering back to his car without looking suspicious. 

So now he was riding high on the adrenaline rush from both the danger of what he'd been doing and the thrill of success. It was a feeling he remembered well, but hadn't realized just how much he'd missed. But now he needed to find a way to burn off the excess energy, and he knew just how he wanted to do it, he thought as he grabbed his cellphone from the glove compartment. 

A moment later, he was cursing as he listened to Vic's recorded voice informing him that its owner was not at home to pick up the phone. He thought about trying the man's cellphone number, but regretfully decided not to. Vic might be with Ramirez, or worse, the Director. Now that he finally had the man where he wanted him—in his bed—he didn't want to screw it up by letting their relationship interfere with work or by doing anything else that might inspire the Director to try separating them. 

So since screwing—of both kinds—was out, he needed another outlet for his high energy, so he would have to go for choice number two. He put the new car he'd recently requisitioned from the Agency carpool and modified with Vic's needs in mind in gear and pointed it towards downtown and his favorite dance club. 

* * *

The Cave was Mac's favorite dance club in Toronto. During the months he'd been waiting for Vic to finish his training with the hot-headed local Gangrel leader he'd gone there often to work off his frustrations. It wasn't like he had many other choices. Somehow, after their fateful trip to San Francisco, he hadn't been able to work up the ambition to take anyone home —or go home with anyone else. Male or female. 

That in itself was strange. While he'd been hoping for a serious relationship with Vic, or at least something close, he'd never been one to handle celibacy well. The eighteen months he'd spent in Hong Kong Prison had been pure hell, the first time he'd gone more than a month without sex since reaching puberty. On the other hand, solitary confinement _had_ saved him from experiencing a few less than pleasant sexual experiences, he supposed. However, it did explain why he'd been crazy enough to flirt with the Director when she'd shown up with her offer. 

But since that first night with Vic, he just hadn't been interested in anyone else. Even the exotic Kata hadn't been able to get a rise out of him, so to speak. Somehow, he had the feeling that there was more involved than just his feelings for Vic, but he couldn't even work up enough outrage to care about _that_. 

So, since he'd been uncharacteristically uninterested in sex, he'd danced his stress away, dancing himself into exhaustion so that he would sleep without dreams, several times a week. 

The bouncer at the club recognized him, of course, and let him straight in. Immediately, he was moving to the music, losing himself in the pulsing beat of the music before he even made it out onto the dance floor. He responded absently to called out greeting, but other than that, the only thing he knew was the dance. It was at times like this, he could understand why there were religions that included ecstatic dancing in their rites. 

Over the next two hours, he danced almost continuously. He had vague memories of stopping for the occasional drink or pit-stop but not much more than that. He danced with a blur of partners, but still somehow danced alone. 

But then, as he danced, reality started to blur further, and he started to see a different place overlaying the reality of the club, slowly growing in strength. Instead of synthesized instruments, he heard the wail of fiddles and the beat of hand-made drums. Instead of flashing neon lights, he saw the flicker of firelight. Instead of skin-tight outfits in black and metallic shades, the dancers around him wore brightly-colored, loose clothing. 

He wove through the crowd, now dancing to music that he alone could hear, unnoticed by the people around him, it seemed. He could no longer tell which was real, the dance floor or the camp. Both were so compelling. 

Then, finally, the dance floor faded completely from sight and the camp was all that was left. 

In the shadows, he could feel the watchers beyond the reach of the firelight. Watchers that did not feel human. Suspicious sounds came from the darkness, like the cough of a large predator on the prowl, and green eyes flashed, but he wasn't afraid. The dance was all. 

Then a figure stepped out of the shadows and he came to a stop for the first time. She—it _was_ female, of that he was sure—struck him as... dangerous. When she started to weave her hands through the air, he could see the flash of long nails, or maybe even claws. Backlit by the fire, he couldn't make out any more details other than the impression of 'not quite right.' 

But then she started to sing, low and seductive, and his wariness faded away. She began to dance, slow and sinuous, and he found himself matching her, move for move. She backed away from him, away from the fire, and he followed her, mesmerized. 

Step by step, he followed her into the darkness. 

* * *

Mac groaned and shook his head. It felt like there was a full construction crew, complete with jackhammers, was working right next to him. His mouth was as dry as a good martini, and it took him a moment to work up enough spit to moisten it. 

Then he opened his eyes and looked around. 

Okay, this was _not_ the dance club. In fact it looked like someone's basement, assuming that someone was the Marquis de Sade. Torches provided the only light and there were chains and manacles hanging from the drywall at regular intervals. Kind of like the ones that he was wearing, he realized. Strange devices whose function he could only guess and wish he hadn't were spread around the large room with plenty of walk space between them. All in all, it looked like the torture chamber from a really bad b- movie. 

Mac groaned again and let his head fall back against the wall, then winced as it set off flares of pain. He couldn't remember having drunk enough to have passed out—and that certainly wouldn't explain his current situation —so someone must have slipped him a Mickey. 

"Great," he muttered to himself. "All I want is the chance to do a little dancing and some freak decides to take a liking to me." The Director was definitely not going to let him live this down. Assuming she let him live. Assuming he survived long enough for her to make that choice. 

"Freak? Should I be flattered or insulted?" 

One of the shadows detached from the corner of the room and moved forward, gradually coming into focus. It was a woman, someone he'd never seen before, and yet somehow familiar. She had long black hair drawn up in a complicated twist and brilliant green eyes that seemed to suck up all the light in the room. She was dressed in an elegant wine-colored evening gown that flattered her, but looked more like it belonged in the thirties or forties. 

Mac backpedaled as best as he could, considering he was currently chained to a wall. "My apologies. I was thinking of some of the people I've met in the past who play these sorts of... games." He tried his best to avoid thinking of the time he'd been drugged and handcuffed to his bed, left there until the Director had shown up to tease him, then release him. "Not that there's anything wrong with those games," he added quickly. "They just don't interest me, so why don't you let me down and we'll just forget all about this, okay?" He paused and took a deep breath. 

The woman just laughed, and he got the sinking feeling that this was going to get really, really bad. Still, he managed not to flinch when she came close enough to run a fingernail down his chest in a way that reminded him of the Director, especially since he'd already been thinking of her. 

This was also the point when he realized that his shirt was gone. In fact, he was naked from the waist up, although thankfully he still had his pants. Contrary to the standard image of a dungeon, this was warm enough that he hadn't noticed his state of undress earlier. 

"Sorry, Mr. Ramsey, but I have too many plans for you to just let you go." She pinched his nipple—hard—and it was all he could do to keep from yelping. 

Somehow, he had the feeling that he didn't want to know what her plans were, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. "What plans?" 

She moved away, and he breathed a small sigh of relief as she let go of him. His nipple throbbed hotly in a way that could have been exciting under other circumstance, but at the moment was just painful. 

Instead of answering the question, she leaned back against something that looked like an Art Deco version of the rack and looked at him with a contemplative expression. She smiled softly and her eyes gleamed in the torch light. "I can definitely see why my sister keeps you around," she said, more to herself. 

"Sister?" Mac was starting to feel like he'd gone down the rabbit hole and landed on his head. This was Alice on crack. 

"Of course," she continued as if he hadn't said anything, "looking pretty isn't enough. Competence is also important. Just how competent is he?" she asked, raising her voice. 

The sound of someone coming down stairs echoed from a dark hole in the wall. Mac turned towards that door, and when the newcomer stepped into the light, he somehow wasn't surprised to see that it was Kata. "Oh, I'd say he's competent enough," she said, letting a stream of gold fall from one hand to the other, glittering brightly. 

Mac stiffened in shock, wondering just how the hell she'd managed to retrieve the bracelet so quickly. For that matter, who had she known that he was making his run that night? He'd been looking for watchers and hadn't seen any. 

Kata came to a stop next to the woman, who ran a possessive hand through the thief's dark hair. "Thank you, my dear," she said, taking the bracelet from Kata and fastening it around her own wrist. By the time she turned her attention back to Mac, his thought processes had come back online and he was starting to put two and two together. 

"I take it that you're the mysterious Guylaine," he said bluntly. 

"Who else would I be?" 

"And you're related somehow to the Director." 

"Very good," she said, like a mother praising a young son. Then she made a tsking noise. "I take it she hasn't told you about me. No, I suppose she wouldn't have. Her kind are so terrified of exposure. She wouldn't tell any sheep unless she absolutely couldn't avoid it, thanks to that idiotic Masquerade. Do you even know what she really is?" 

"Oh, she's a lot of things, I'm sure," Mac said lightly. Guylaine's pleasant expression slipped for a moment. Mac hid a shiver. "But I assume that you're talking about her being Kindred." 

Guylaine nodded, showing a little surprise. "She actually told you? Will wonders never cease?" 

"Actually," Mac said, not able to stop himself. "It was more along the lines of providing the clues and waiting for us to figure it out." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to call them back. That plural might have given away too much. 

"Now that sounds more like my dear little sister: everything a test. That's the only thing we have in common. Tell me, who figured it out first? You, the ex-cop or the lovely little oriental?" 

That made Mac hiss. Just how long had she been watching them and why? LiAnn had been out of the country for more than a month now. "I did," he finally admitted. 

"Even better," she said, clapping her hands. "I do love it when everything works the way I want it to." 

"You mean like Ramirez's little accident?" Mac said snidely. "Was his problem at the farm according to plan?" 

"Why, yes it was. Kata did a lovely job blowing up the place, don't you think?" She brushed gentle fingers against the other woman's face. Kata rubbed against those fingers, and Mac could have sworn he heard a faint purring. 

"But, but..." he stuttered for a moment before he pulled himself together enough to form a coherent sentence. "If he's working for you, why would you destroy his operation?" 

Guylaine's expression turned sly. "Because that was the plan from the start, not that I told him. Can't you figure it out? Let me give you a little hint: It's easier to take over when your opponent is busy somewhere else." 

Mac thought about it. When the answer came to him, straight from his old life with the Tangs, he didn't like it much. "He comes in and takes over the drug trade," he said slowly. "Eliminating the competition so that the addicts have to come to him. Then, once he's got a stranglehold on the trade, you destroy his ability to deliver what he promises. The price of what drugs _are_ available become exorbitantly high, at least until outside suppliers get wind of the demand and move in. Until then, a major crime wave starts because the addicts need more money to feed their habit." He felt sick to his stomach. 

"As smart as he is pretty," Guylaine said. "I _am_ impressed. It certainly works well with my plans, even though I've had to move up the timetable some. Ramirez," she smiled, showing a flash of fangs, "has already received his reward for his efforts." 

Mac's mouth went dry at the note in her voice. It was perfectly matched with her expression; one that would better suit a cat about to finish playing with his prey. Next to her, Kata's expression was a near-perfect match to it. "And where do I fit into those plans?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer. 

"You? You, little boy, are bait. The only question was what sort of bait: Live or dead. Originally, you were going to end up... dinner." Her eyes flashed and a few beads of cold sweat ran down Mac's face, making his eyes sting. "But then Kata asked for permission to test you. I must say, you have lived up to her expectations." 

She reached behind herself and pulled a cellphone into view. "Congratulations, Mr. Ramsey. You have graduated from dinner to... dead bait." 

Mac could hear faint beeping as the woman punched a phone-number into the cell, but his eyes were fixed on Kata. The thief's eyes were completely silver as she advanced, her wide smile showing her fangs. 

"You don't really want to do this," he said around the lump that was plugging his throat. 

"Oh, but I do," she purred, drawing close. She ran her fingernails down his chest, leaving behind welts that oozed blood. Looking down, Mac saw that her nails looked more like claws now. He gulped as she leaned in closer. Dimly, he could hear Guylaine talking into the phone. 

Then Kata's teeth sank into his neck, roughly. There was none of the pleasure he'd felt with Vic, just pain. Bright red blood was now running down his chest as Kata started to suck greedily, sending pain like shards of glass running through his system. 

He couldn't help himself. 

He screamed. 

Then everything went black. 

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Vic finally found a parking spot a mere five-minute walk from the club and grabbed it before anyone else could. It amazed him just how many people bothered, considering the place's isolated location, far from the normal Toronto nightlife. The place should have been out of business almost as soon as it opened. 

He made doubly sure to activate the truck's alarm system, not that it would deter a serious thief. On the other hand, the three separate locators buried deep inside the vehicle's frame meant that if stolen, the truck would be quickly located and the thief summarily dealt with. 

The Agency did _not_ like anyone messing with its property. 

He gave the red pickup one last check, then made sure that the sample case was safely tucked inside his jacket pocket before heading towards the club. Mac was right about one thing, though: he was going to have to change vehicles. As much as he loved the truck—and he'd been driving it for nearly four years, ever since his last truck had been demolished in a run-in with a gang of peaceful (so they claimed) Eco-terrorists—but it didn't match his new... needs. So unless he was willing to install a depressingly coffin-shaped 'tool case' in the back, he was going to need to switch to an ordinary car with a large, enclosed trunk. 

The club was packed—not exactly normal for the middle of the week, he thought—when he finally got there. The music was turned up to a level where he could barely even think, let alone hear anything _but_ the pounding beat. He felt like his entire body was throbbing in time, and if he still had a natural pulse, it would probably be pulsing to the same tempo too. 

Confidently, he pushed his way through the gyrating crowd, ignoring a few furtive gropes from girls even younger than his little sister, until he reached the stairs leading up to the upper levels. Immediately, a beefy man with no neck was blocking his way. 

Vic waited for a moment, but the man stayed silent. He rolled his eyes and shouted over the music, "I have business with Ramirez." 

The man snorted. "Yeah, right," he said in a thick French-Canadian accent. 

Vic shrugged. "Fine, have it your way. If he complains about me not showing up, I'll point him your way." He turned and started to walk away, heading back the way he'd come, hoping that the thug wouldn't realize he was bluffing. 

"Hey, you Mansfield?" 

"And who else would I be?" Vic drawled sarcastically, turning around and waiting with his arms crossed over his chest. It was obvious that the man trying to play dominance games, but compared to the Director, he was a complete amateur. 

"You got proof?" the man growled, a mulish expression on his face. 

Vic couldn't help laughing, which gest made the man's darken. "You think I'm going to be carrying ID? Victor Mansfield, drug manufacturer to the stars?" 

The man's eyes bugged out and his face went white with shock that Vic would say that in public, and worse, in the middle of his boss's club. It was just the reaction he'd been going for. The man obviously didn't realized that no one was paying any attention to his posturing. "Up, end of the hall," he said quickly, getting out of Vic's way. "He's waiting for you." 

"Thanks," Vic said sarcastically. As he passed the man, he exercised a little Kindred strength and brushed against the man hard enough to nearly take him off his feet. He was almost disappointed when the man didn't respond, even though his face went nearly purple with rage. 

As he climbed the stairs, though, his steps slowed. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong here. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He paused a moment to listen for anything out of the ordinary, but anything that might have been there was drowned out by the music. 

The office door was ajar, and he pushed it open. "Ramirez," he called out impatiently, then stopped in his tracks. His nose prickled at the smell filling the room, and he finally realized what had been bothering him. 

Blood. Everywhere, blood. It splattered the wall with dark red, like some sort of modern art; Jackson Pollack, or one of his fellows. The scent was enough to make his fangs drop, even though he was also nauseated by what he saw. 

Whoever had killed Ramirez hadn't exactly had an easy time of it, though. There were signs of a struggle. The heavy desk had been pushed nearly halfway across the room according to the scrapes on the floor. A computer desk was overturned in one corner, the monitor's screen a spider's web of cracks staring mutely at the ceiling. A warm breeze blew through the ragged hole where a glass window had been. 

And on the floor, sprawled out across the glass shards, was the body of Ramirez. From the extra angles they were bent at, Vic could tell that both his legs were broken in several places. His arms as well. Nearly every finger in both of the man's hands had been smashed too. He couldn't tell if the others had been since they were gone, ripped off at the root, leaving bone shards sticking out through shredded flesh. 

But worst of all was the expression of horror and utter disbelief on Ramirez's face. Worst, because the head that the expression was attached to was no longer fastened to his body. The man's head was sitting on the desk, facing the door. And Vic. 

Vic stood frozen in disbelief. It had been less than an hour since he'd spoken on the phone with Ramirez, so the man hadn't been dead for long. For that matter, the sprays of blood on the wall and floor still had a faint sheen and were tacky when he cautiously touched one, so it was more likely only a matter of minutes. 

So who had killed him and why? And where _were_ they? The method matched the deaths of drug dealers that had refused to cooperate with Ramirez's plans, but why would his own assassin turn on him, killing him too? Vic had the sinking feeling that they were missing something very important. 

"Mr. Ramirez?" 

Vic's eyes went wide at the sound of a voice coming from behind him. The voice of the same tough boy who'd tried to stop him downstairs. He had the feeling that the man wasn't going to be looking at things reasonably. The only way out of the room, other than the now blocked off way he'd come, was the window. Three long strides, ignoring the body he had to step over, took him to it, and he dove through just as the thug reached the office. 

Vic could hear shouts as the alarm was raised but ignored them, focusing on getting down to the ground as quickly as possible. Reaching the bottom landing, he didn't bother to lower the ladder. Instead, he jumped over the side, landing on relaxed legs. He wasn't quite able to keep to his feet, but after a quick roll, he was up and running. He reached the end of the alley just as a stream of well-armed men spilled out the back door of the club. Bullets pinged off the bricks next to his head as he ducked around the corner. 

Heading for the truck as fast as his feet would take him, all Vic could think was: the Director was _not_ going to like this. 

* * *

"Are you sure he was dead?" 

The Director didn't sound more than mildly peeved, which had Vic seriously considering making a break for it: usually, the angrier the Director was, the cooler she got, and at the moment, she was being very, _very_ cool. 

It was getting very late in the night at that point. It had been nearly midnight by the time he'd reached The Silver Wolf, and thanks to the gunmen determined to hunt him down, it had been more than two hours before he'd been able to ditch them and get back to the Agency. 

"Yes, I'm sure," he said tiredly. They'd been going over this for the last half-hour and he was starting to get a little frustrated. "Ripped apart, just like all the dealers who told him no. I didn't have time to find out anything more." He eyed the clock. Three in the morning and sunrise was only three hours away. "The question is, what do we do now?" 

The Director ignored the question and returned to her pacing. Vic sighed and pulled out his cellphone again. He punched in the same series of programmed numbers that he'd already tried before: Mac's apartment, his own apartment, Mac's cell, Mac's pager. The result was the same as the last two times: no answer. 

This time, though, he'd had it. He tucked the cell back into his pocket and pushed to his feet. "Where do you think you're going?" the Director snapped before he'd gone three steps in the direction of the door. 

"To find Mac." 

"He's a big boy, Victor. He can take care of himself." 

Vic spun around to face her. "We've got this Sabbat organization making a move on Toronto, a woman out for personal revenge against you and our main lead is dead. All of this, and Mac doesn't even _know_ about it yet. And now!" He took a deep breath, then continued in a lower tone. "And now Mac is unreachable. I don't know if that is directly related. Hell, for all I know, his phone battery is dead and he's had a breakdown. But I am not going to sit around here waiting to find out." 

He headed for the door again, but suddenly the Director was in his way, eyes flashing. "Sit down!" A moment later, he was in his usual seat at the briefing table with absolutely no memory of how he got there. 

"Good," she said. "Now, if you would exercise your brains once in a while, you would know why running out there with no plan is a bad idea. Can you tell me why?" 

Vic stayed silent. He wanted to get up, get going, but his body wasn't exactly in the mood to follow orders. Somehow, he liked it better back in the days when she'd kept her true nature—and abilities—hidden. 

The Director rolled her eyes. "Fine, I guess I will have to spell it out for you. Either Mac is fine, or he is in Guylaine's hands. Well, I suppose there are a few other possibilities, but those two are the more likely. If he is fine, then running out there looking for him will just mean that you're both at risk. If Guylaine has him, he is probably dead or close to. Don't growl at me, mister. But dead or alive, he is bait. Bait means that they'll be ready for you, and they'll have two hostages against me." 

She sighed. "Why the hell did I send Jackie and Dobrinsky out of town to that conference?" she asked the ceiling. "They are both more sensible about these things." 

"Now," she said, turning her attention back to Vic. "We wait until we hear something a little more definitive about Mac or Ramirez." There was no room for negotiating in her tone and Vic found himself knodding reluctantly. 

"And if we don't?" he said. "Dawn's not far off." 

"Then tonight we go hunting." 

This time her eyes glowed a feral silver, showing a side that she rarely exposed. Vic shivered and hunched down into his chair. Dawn was coming too soon and sunset was an eternity away. 

* * *

An hour later, the only thing keeping Vic in that room was the sheer force of his boss's will, and even though it was a pretty forceful will, it wasn't going to work for much longer. He'd been trying to call Mac every ten minutes during that time, along with calls to some of his favorite haunts. He had even—briefly—considered calling the police to see if he'd been caught breaking into the ROM, even though they'd already checked the police computers to find out if there was any record of that. There wasn't. 

The only lead was a report that he might have been at The Cave, a dance club he'd gone to with Mac a couple times. Definitely not his kind of club, though. The bartender had said he'd seen Mac dancing with some woman who he didn't know, but wasn't around anymore. He'd hung up before Vic could ask if the two had left together. 

Someone less confident might have worried at hearing that his lover had been seen with someone else, but Vic wasn't one of them. Maybe. Sure, he'd wondered for a moment if Mac had fallen back on old preferences, but he quickly pushed that down. He knew Mac better than that. 

Or so he kept telling himself. 

But there was a limit to his patience and he had finally reached it. He opened his mouth to tell the Director that like it or not, he was leaving to find Mac when the phone rang. 

Her phone. 

The one phone that even _he_ didn't know the number to. 

They stared at it for a moment until it rang a second time. Then, moving across the room faster than he'd expected, she stabbed one of the buttons with a long, red-painted fingernail. 

"Hello, Dianne," a warm voice purred from the speaker. Vic knew automatically that it was Guylaine. Her voice had the same tone as his boss, but with even more sexual innuendo poured into the four syllables. "Comment vas-tu, ma chère soeur?" 

"What do you want, Guylaine?" the Director asked, the ice of the arctic north in her voice. 

"Oh, just to talk. After all, it has been a while, hasn't it?" 

Vic barely noticed the women trading fake pleasantries. In the background, he could hear Mac's voice. The speaker quality wasn't good enough to let him pick up what Mac was saying, but he could hear the fear in his lover's voice. 

The Director's hand came up, and he realized he was moving towards the phone, a low growl vibrating in his chest, but he backed down at the gesture. For now. "True. However, we both know you want something. Cut to the chase." 

"Spoilsport," the other woman griped. "However, I really just wanted to let you know where you can find your other delightful little boy." 

At that moment a blood-curdling scream came through the line, making Vic's hair stand on end. Even worse, he knew just who was doing the screaming. "What are you doing to Mac?!" he burst in, not caring about the warning on the Director's face. 

"Oh, don't worry, little Gangrel. I've found a... pleasant resting place for him." 

A click cut off the scream, leaving on the hiss of empty air. 

Vic actually made it to the door of the briefing room before it slammed shut in his face, knocking him off his feet. He bounced back up almost immediately, but the thick metal refused to open for him. 

"Damnit!" he shouted, whirling around to face his boss. 

She met his anger with icy control. "And just where do you think you're going?" 

"To find Mac," he hissed back at her. "And you're not going to stop me." 

She shook her head tiredly and sat down. "Fine. I'll let you go when you can prove that you have something more to go on than just determination. It's a large city. Where are you going to start?" 

Vic opened his mouth to say 'The Cave,' then stopped. It was nearly dawn and he didn't have time to play detective. But what the hell else was there? Then it hit him. "She wouldn't call just to taunt, would she? She's set a trap and she wants to make sure that it gets sprung." He thought back to what Guylaine had said on the phone. He hadn't really been paying attention, too caught up at the sound of Mac being... He refused to go there. Mac was going to be just fine. 

He had to be. 

Finally, he found what he was looking for and nearly smacked a hand to his forehead in frustration. It was so incredibly obvious that he should have seen it right away. "She said she found him a _pleasant_ resting place. The only place that fits the bill is Mount Pleasant." Mount Pleasant was a Toronto landmark; the most beautiful, peaceful, opulent cemetery in the city, and probably the largest. With its surrounding trees and unexpected gullies—not to mention abundance of crypts and monuments—it was the perfect place to set up an ambush. 

Or to dispose of a body. 

"If they've killed him..." he started to say, but the Director cut him off. 

"I doubt she has," she said gently and more than a little sadly. "That wouldn't be enough for her. Remember what I told you about the Sabbat?" 

Vic shuddered. "When they Embrace, they bury their victims and leave them to dig themselves out alone." 

"Exactly. Which means we've got time to prepare. She'll expect you to run off immediately. If we wait until sunset..." 

"No! I am _not_ going to leave Mac in her hands that long!" 

"Be reasonable, Victor. There's no way you'll find him before sunrise, let alone dig him up and find a place to hide for the day. The place it too large. If we wait and plan..." 

"No," he broke in again stubbornly. "I'm going, so you better open those damned doors before I rip them off their hinges." 

She glared at him, but he wasn't going to budge on this. Of course it was a trap. Certainly, he didn't have much of a chance of getting Mac out before sunrise. But, "Please," he said desperately. "I have to at least _try_." 

Finally, she sighed. "All right. I'll let you go. But you won't have any backup until sunset. Just because you want to risk your life doesn't mean that I'm going to throw away the lives of any other Agency staff." 

"Fine. Now open that damned door! Please," he added, a little more politely. 

She tapped a key on her computer and the doors swung open as quickly and silently as they had swung shut. "Thank you," he said softly, then headed off at a run, refusing to acknowledge the sad eyes that watched him go. 

* * *

Sunrise was only an hour away by the time he reached the cemetery and the sky was already starting to turn grey on the horizon. He pulled to a stop, wheels screeching at the suddenness, on the road that split the two main sections of the grounds. He could have driven the truck _through_ the cemetery, but the driveway was long and twisting, and didn't cover the entire grounds. He would be better off on foot. 

But he found himself standing next to the truck, frozen by indecision. Like the Director had said, the place was huge. It was divided into several sections, each as large as most ordinary cemeteries. This, however, was the one where the elite of Toronto were buried, with family crypts going back generations, more modern headstones, statuary and crematory gardens. Where the hell did he start. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath... 

And guessed. 

Turning to his right, he moved silently into the shadows. The pre-dawn light was scattered by the branches waving in the wind, creating a pattern of movement that made it impossible to see anything clearly. Instead, he opened up his other senses, listening for any noises other than the rustle of leaves, sniffed for the scent of fresh earth or anything else unexpected. 

Something like the perfume he associated with Kata. 

The scent hit him a second before a large, furred, muscular form did. He went flying, trying desperately to keep fangs from his throat and claws from his vulnerable belly. Finally, he got a foot wedged between him and his attacker and kicked hard. 

The beast went flying with a yowl, then faded into the shadows. Vic was on his feet in an instant, bleeding from multiple slashes and braced for another attack. Instead, he heard soft, mocking laughter. 

"You're too late, 'hero.' He's mine now." 

"Like hell he is, lady," Vic snarled back at thin air, twisting around, trying to find her. 

"We'll just have to see then, won't we, lap-dog? Maybe I'll have him kill you before we leave town. Or maybe I'll just leave you to live with your failure." 

"I'm going to kill you," Vic said, then stopped in shock, realizing for the first time in his life, he meant it; he wanted to hunt her down and rip her heart out for what she had done. Then he'd find her boss and kill _her_ too. He'd killed in the line of duty, but this was the first time he'd _wanted_ to kill, gone looking to kill. 

After a moment, he realized that there was going to be no answer. Kata was gone. 

* * *

There was no further interference after that confrontation, but there was also no sign of Mac. He'd finished searching the one side of the cemetery as best he could, but there was no sign of a fresh grave or anything else that might be hiding the other man. Cursing softly to himself, he headed back across the road to the other section. He was so intent on his search that he didn't see the car coming at him until it swerved around him, horn blaring. "Hey asshole, watch where you're going!" the driver shouted before driving off again. 

At that point, Vic realized just how late it was getting. The eastern sky was bright grey and the first colors of sunrise were showing. When he'd arrived, there'd been no traffic. Now cars were passing with increasing frequency. It was dawn and there wasn't enough time to drive to a safe haven. 

Just inside the gates on the other side of the street, he looked around quickly. Unfortunately, the only nearby structures were a couple mausoleums that were securely locked. He could have broken the locks easily, but that would have been obvious to the groundskeepers and the last thing he needed was for the cops to show up to drag him out. Besides, the idea of spending the day in a building with dead bodies was not his idea of a fun time. 

So that just left the one skill he'd not been able to master on his own: merging himself into the earth. He'd always been blocked by a fear of not being able to find his way back, but now he had no choice. He could remember Moira explaining _how_ to do it, though, and like she'd said, necessity was an excellent teacher. He moved into the trees, away from the cemetery proper. 

Stopping in a tiny clearing, he looked around nervously. He didn't want to be doing this, but he could already feel the sun coming up over the horizon. He didn't have long until the first rays hit this area. 

He lay down on the ground on his back, looking up into the leaves above him. He took a couple deep, if not really necessary, breaths, then closed his eyes. He brought to mind the sensation of sinking into a feather mattress, buoyed by softness and covered by thick covers. 

Day sleep took him, and after a moment, there wasn't even a mound of earth to show where he'd been. 

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Mac woke to a heavy, oppressive blackness and the feeling of being tightly constrained. Actually, he was a little surprise that he'd woke at all. The last thing he remembered was a dungeon and Kata sinking her fangs into his neck with no concern for his feelings at all. 

In a way, the excruciating pain had put a lot of things into perspective. Suddenly, what Vic had done the other night when he'd teased the other man into losing control didn't seem so bad. He was barely starting to realized just how _much_ control Vic had managed to hang onto, even under those circumstances. 

In fact, he couldn't remember ever experiencing _anything_ worse than what Kata had done to him, not even Michael's betrayal or the warehouse explosion when his former brother had tried to kill him and both of his partners. 

Of course, he still wasn't sure just _what_ Kata had done to him, but he knew that whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it. 

Mac shifted his weight and raised one arm. His elbow hit wood beside him, making him wince, and his hand hit wood above. He froze for a moment, then quickly felt around. An examination of his immediate surrounding confirmed his worst fears. 

He was in a coffin, or at least something shaped like one. Nothing fancy, made from cheap plywood that left splinters in his palm as he pressed it against the surface just above his nose. 

Or maybe hammering that surface was a better term for it. He'd never been comfortable with tight spaces—probably a left-over from his months in solitary confinement before the Director had sprung him from the Hong Kong prison system—but it had gotten worse since the year before when a politician under the Agency's protection had kidnapped him and packed him in a coffin to ship to Hong Kong and the loving embrace of his former family. The only thing that had saved him from spending a day or two locked in that box before being presented to a Tang Family hit squad as target practice was the timely rescue by his two partners and the Director. But he still had nightmares about what might have happened, and had even slept with a night-light for nearly a month, although he'd rather die than admit it. 

The one calm part of his mind that was analyzing this noted that he was well on his way to hysteria. However, it also noted that his actions _were_ having an effect. One of the boards was loose and shifted under his hands. Since the tight space didn't allow him the leverage to push, he dug his fingernails into the edge of the board and pulled. 

Two nails were broken and another was ripped off altogether by the time he'd managed to pull one of the wide boards down on top of him. 

But the board was followed by an avalanche of loose dirt, filling his open mouth. And the truth hit him. 

He'd been buried. 

At that point, he abandoned any pretense of sanity and started clawing at the wood and earth above him. 

* * *

Mac drew in deep shuddering breaths of the warm night air as he pulled himself from the earth, as naked as a baby sliding from his mother's womb. It was dark and he was surrounded by trees and the whisper of breeze through the branches. He was scraped and bleeding and filthy. 

And he burned. Oh, how he burned. 

He looked around, but the only thing other than trees and bushes that he saw was a dim figure, barely visible in the nighttime gloom. He moved towards it, not bothering to try to pull his thoughts together. Behind him, the churned-up earth bore mute witness to his desperate struggle for freedom. 

When he reached the figure, he realized that it was just a statue: the figure of an angel carved from stone, standing on a pedestal so tall that he had to stare up at her. Pollution and weather had left there marks, wearing away details and staining her until she had a blank oval for a face. A star adorned her forehead and her arms were folded over her breast. She exuded a sense of calm compassion and he could not look away. 

He lifted a hand to his own chest and was disturbed to find it as bare as the rest of him, even though he didn't know why. All he knew was that something was missing. Something important. His thoughts were still sluggish and only half-formed. Everything seemed to be lost in a haze, but he could not find the ambition to worry about that. 

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" 

Mac turned to see a beautiful woman moving out of the shadows towards him. Slim and graceful, with a spill of dark hair covering her shoulders, he knew her on a deep, instinctive level, even though her name was one of those things lost in the mist. 

She came up beside him and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing dirt from it. He leaned against her, looking for more of that caress. A sigh of contentment escaped him, even though the burning in his gut was growing by the moment. 

Her laughter was like a peal of bells as she pulled his head down to her breast. "Oh yes, you are mine, no matter what he thinks. I knew you were meant for this the moment I saw you, and no one will ever take away from me. You are mine, sweet Mac." 

He nodded, more in response to what he recognized as his name than any understanding of what she was saying. But all she seemed to want was agreement and for some reason he wanted to please her. Then the nod turned into a nuzzle as he looked for something, although he didn't know what it might be. 

Then the pain struck and he doubled over with a cry, clutching his stomach. The burning feeling was spreading through him and he felt like he was going to burst into flames. Flames of need. He needed, he needed... 

Something was pressed to his lips, flesh and fluid and an intoxicating scent. He fastened onto it and started to suckle eagerly. 

* * *

When Vic woke, it was well after dark and he was lying on the ground. There was a light rain coming down and he was nearly soaked. He couldn't remember anything after lying down that morning, but he assumed that he must have succeeded in merging himself with the earth since he wasn't charred remains. Moira was right: imminent death was a great motivator. 

But he was no better off than he'd been before. Mac was still out there, and Vic found himself praying that he _had_ been Embraced by their enemies. The alternative was that he was dead, and Vic did _not_ want to consider that. No, Mac was alive and he would find him and save him. He deliberately did not think about Cash's story of being driven apart from his lover after she was embraced by a clan hostile to his. If that happened, he and Mac would just have to prove that instinct could be overcome if you wanted to badly enough. 

But first he had to find Mac. The Director had promised reinforcements come nightfall, but he wasn't about to wait for them. Once again exercising all the senses and talents of the Gangrel, he started hunting. 

* * *

"Very good," the woman crooned as Mac drank. Whatever it was, it was like the finest of wines sliding down his throat and cooling the burn. When she pulled it away, he whimpered and tried to hang onto it, but he was too weak. 

Immediately her voice turned hard and she grabbed his chin hard enough to bruise. "Enough, Mac. There will be more later, but you need to learn some self-control. Do you understand me?" He stared at her in confusion, but she shook him. Hard. "Do you understand?!" 

He swallowed hard. "Ye...yes," he managed to croak. "I... understand." The words felt awkward in his throat, but they came. 

And with the words came thought. He shuddered as he remembered pulling the dirt down on top of himself, praying that he hadn't been buried too deeply, thanking God that the dirt was packed down. Digging his way free hadn't been too difficult, but the panic had been all-encompassing. 

And before that, he remembered pain. Lots and lots of pain. Pain and silver eyes and sharp teeth. 

He cried out and pulled away. 

* * *

The cry was Mac. Vic would know his voice anywhere. Angling his path slightly to the left, he ran even faster. 

* * *

Mac fought to keep himself upright, but the memory of pain was threatening to overwhelm him and he ended up collapsing back to his knees. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, only just beginning to realize that he didn't _need_ to breathe. He should need to breathe, shouldn't he? 

A strong hand grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back to his feet. "It's time to go," Kata said. He looked at her, confused. The haze had drawn back a little further, enough to remember her name. 

"Go where?" he asked, a deep feeling of foreboding. She didn't look quite as attractive anymore. Her hair was matted down by the rain turning the dirt on his own body to muddy streaks, and her expression was harsh. 

Then she smiled, and he shuddered slightly. "South, I think. Someplace warm and far from the Gaje. Won't that be nice?" 

He wasn't so sure about that, but when she turned and walked away, he followed her, almost against his will. With every step, the sense of wrong increased, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. She wanted him to follow, so follow he would. 

"Mac!" 

The shout stopped him in his tracks and he turned to see a man bursting out from a copse of trees behind the stone memorials. Green-eyed and crusted with dirt and mud, much like Mac but fully-dressed. He was familiar, but his name wasn't coming to Mac. 

"Time to go," Kata said, almost harshly, from behind him. He turned to see her waiting impatiently, one foot tapping lightly against the grass. He took a step towards her. 

"No!" 

"I told, you, he's mine, Gangrel. He was mine the moment I saw him. Blood calls to blood. Do you think he would really stay with a Gajo like yourself?" 

The man's face was twisting into a snarl now, his green eyes starting to turn silver. His hands clenched and his fingernails were... growing? Mac took a step back, confused and more than a little afraid. Silver eyes were associated with pain, he remembered. 

Then the man sprang forward and Mac fell over backwards trying to get out of the way. But the man went sailing over him to hit Kata. Mac blinked in confusion, though, when he realized that what had hit the woman wasn't a man. 

It was a large cat? 

It was a mountain lion, although he wasn't sure just where it had come from. Or where the man had gone. His mind was refusing to accept the evidence of his own eyes: the man had _become_ the cat. 

Kata was fighting back, seemingly unconcerned about just what her attacker was. She struck out, like she was trying to slap the oversized feline, but there was a flash of light off of claws just as long as his, and the cat howled as lines of blood were left behind by the blow. Kata's lips drew back in a feral grin, exposing teeth that were longer and sharper that Mac remembered them being. 

The two sprang apart, settling into poses where either could attack or defend easily, although a woman facing off against a large mountain lion was not exactly normal. Mac was pretty sure of that. A flash of lightning and the answering roll of thunder just added to the unreality of the scene. 

And Kata's eyes were glowing an eerie silver to match the cat's eyes. Mac shuddered and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The man's eyes turning silver had made him think of the pain. Kata's eyes turning silver brought the memory of pain back full force, along with other memories. 

He remembered her tearing through the skin of his neck, sucking hard. Remembered the pain, followed but the darkness as his body turned cold and limp. And last of all, he remembered fluid being poured into his mouth and drinking it, before the darkness consumed everything. 

And then he woke up, buried alive. _She_ had done that. Then she'd just _waited_ until he'd dug himself free, doing nothing to help him. 

As the two combatants threw themselves at each other again, Mac scrabbled backwards until he was hidden behind one of the headstones. Then he pushed to his feet and ran. 

He just wished he knew where he was running to. 

* * *

Vic barely noticed slipping into cat form, it was so comfortable, so right. It was like slipping on a favorite outfit. As well, it had advantages in strength and speed that he had a hunch were going to be important. 

He knew that the bitch was Kindred, even before her talons and fangs made an appearance, and while he still didn't have a clue which clan she might be, he had the feeling she was a lot older than himself, and in Kindred terms, older meant stronger and cannier. Definitely more experienced in basic survival. 

A slash of the talons opened up his shoulder, sending shards of pain through his body. He leapt back with a howl and took a ready stance opposite her while he didn't a self-check. He was bleeding what blood he had and his leg wasn't entirely steady. She'd done damage to the muscles and worse, she knew it. 

"Here, kitty, kitty," she mocked softly, pushing the wet hair out of her eyes and circling to his left, trying to get an angle that would allow her to attack his injured side. Vic matched her rotation, not allowing her the opening. 

He might not be able to speak in this form, but his snarl spoke volumes. Unfortunately, she didn't seem in the least bit intimidated. 

"Poor little Gajo," she said, her lips twisting into a very unpleasant expression for such a beautiful face. "I told you that he was mine now. Romany blood _and_ a thief. How could he possibly be happy in the world of the Camarilla? Oh yes," she crooned, flexing her talons as she inched closer to him. Vic tensed, ready. "He was _born_ to be Ravnos and now he is all _mine_!" 

With the last word, she attacked. Vic met her in mid-air and this time when they fell apart, there was a set of parallel gouges down her chest, slowly oozing blood, and she was no longer smiling. Vic made a coughing noise that he managed to pour his derision into. 

She snarled, and her features seemed to melt a little. When they stopped, her appearance was more like what the movies showed as vampires: twisted, showing too much teeth and too much brow- ridge, with pointed ear-tips showing through the limp, dark hair. 

This time, they leapt simultaneously, both going for the jugular. They fell to the ground in a clawing jumble. Vic strained to reach her throat while kicking with his back legs to gut her. She used her own legs to keep his claws away from her vulnerable belly, and one elbow jammed under his jaw to keep his teeth away from her while also exposing his own neck to _her_ fangs. 

At this point it was a stalemate. Neither one could get close enough to do damage without risking letting the other do the same. Vic snarled his frustration. He wanted her blood. He wanted to tear her flesh. This was the bitch who'd hurt Mac, who wanted to take him away. Mac was _his_ , and he wasn't going to let some outsider break them apart. 

The sane portion of his brain was trying to point out that Mac wasn't his property any more than he was hers, but hunger and pain was overriding his commonsense. All he wanted was to kill her and then drag Mac home and make sure that _no_ woman ever came between them again. The Beast was in full control. 

But first he had to do something about this Mexican standoff they were stuck in. 

Then there was a sharp double-prick of something hitting him in the back, followed by the feeling of having stuck his finger in a light-socket, only a thousand times worse. Vic spasmed, then everything went... 

Black. 

* * *

Mac ran, as fast and as hard as he could. In the back of his mind, he knew this was a mistake, but instinct was in the driver's seat. He crossed the road into the other section of the cemetery so quickly that he didn't even notice if there were any cars on the road. 

He wanted to stop running. His mind was starting to recover from what had happened to him and he knew that running through the streets of town completely naked, other than a layer of dirt, was a _very_ bad idea. However, he could hear people moving in the dark, calling out to each other, and he had the sinking feeling that they were hunting for him. Now, maybe they were the good guys and he would be safe with them, but he wasn't willing to risk his life on that chance. Especially not considering the two he'd left behind, fighting over him. 

Part of him wanted to go back, but he wasn't sure why. _She_ had hurt him, but he still felt drawn to her, no matter how hard he fought it. He could still taste the sweetness of her blood in his mouth. And the guy... He shook his head. He knew the man, but the name wasn't coming. But he could trust him. Maybe. He wasn't sure right then. Whichever one won the battle of the century that was going on, he had the feeling that he didn't want to be around when that happened. 

So he kept running until he ran out of room to run. He stared out at the city street, not sure what to do. If he stayed, _they_ would find him. If he kept going, someone might see him and call the police. 

A shout from behind him decided it. Praying to a God he'd been ignoring since being abandoned on the streets of Hong Kong, Mac started running again. 

* * *

When Vic came to, he knew he'd only been unconscious for a few minutes. Kata was gone though, and he rolled over, scanning the surrounding area for her. 

"Easy, Ace," Dobrinsky said, holding out a hand. Vic took it and let the older man pull him to his feet. "Here," Dobrinsky said, tossing him a sweat suit. 

That was when Vic noticed that he was back in human form, soaking wet and buck naked to boot. Thankful that he didn't blush easily anymore, he quickly pulled the fleece garments on. "What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously. Last he heard, Dobrinsky and Jackie were in the States somewhere on the Director's business. 

"The boss thought you might need some backup." That made sense. He just hadn't expected her second-in-command to be heading up the promised reinforcements. 

Vic looked around, but other than the two of them and a lot of headstones, the clearing was empty. "Where's Mac?" he demanded. "And the bitch?" 

Dobrinsky's lips pulled into a smirk. "The... lady is on her way to the Agency. The Director plans on questioning her herself. As for the kid, your guess is as good as mine. The two of you stuck in a clinch were all we found when we got here." 

Vic started swearing. "I've got to find him," he said, looking for and finding the signs of a panicked flight, fading quickly in the heavy rain. 

"Relax, I've got people looking. We'll find him." 

"Don't count on it," Vic said, already heading after Mac. 

"Hey!" Dobrinsky shouted from behind him. "The Director wants you back to base. Pronto!" 

"Screw her!" Vic shouted back, then ignored everything but the trail. 

* * *

Mac ran hard, looking for a place to hide until he could figure out what to do next. He hoped that Vic had won the fight, now that he'd remembered just _who_ Vic was. He wanted to go back, but he still didn't know who the others were. Also, if Kata had won, he didn't want to be anywhere near her. She'd drugged him, kidnapped him for that Guylaine woman and she'd ripped his throat out. She'd... changed him. 

Kindred. He was Kindred now. Like Vic. And the Director, Dobrinsky and Jackie. 

But what would the Director do when she found out? Whatever clan Kata was, he doubted that it was one that the Director was planning on for him. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't matter—after all, she'd accepted Vic after _he'd_ been Embraced by a clan she hadn't planned on—but the part of him that was still pure instinct was terrified that she might decide to just dispose of him. 

He knew he was being irrational, but it didn't stop him from looking for a place to hide. 

He crossed another street, ignoring the offended shriek of a woman stupid enough to be taking her dog for a late-night walk in a thunderstorm, then ran through a yard. He grabbed some clothing off of a forgotten clothesline, then scrambled over yet another fence. Almost immediately, he was surrounded by green. Looking around, he realized that he'd reached the Don Valley Parkway, which traversed Toronto from the 401 to downtown. 

Not hearing any sounds of pursuits, he took the time to pull on his stolen clothing. The jeans were too short and threatened to fall off his hip, while the sweater was far too large for him, and both were soaking wet, but at least he was no longer in danger of being arrested for indecent exposure. 

Then he considered what direction to head. If he went south, he'd run out of park, but he'd be going in the direction of his apartment and Vic's. Home. North, on the other hand, led to more and larger parklands. More places to hide. 

Mac bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. Going with his gut instinct, he turned. 

And headed north. 

* * *

Once Mac left the cemetery, his trail was harder to follow, but Vic persevered, using every trick he'd been taught and a few he made up along the way to keep going. 

Eventually he realized where Mac was headed and sped up even more. 

Mac was headed out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Mac followed the parkway until the green space widened into a full-sized parkland and he sighed in relief. This was so much better. He'd followed the East Don Valley River until he reached the conservation reserve, and while he could still hear the sounds of cars, the wildness of the area soothed his soul. Looking around, he found a nook underneath a bush and crawled in. The leaves of the bush protected him from the worst of the storm, and even though he was soaked to the skin, Mac didn't feel the chill. The fire in his belly was more than capable of keeping him warm. 

But he was exhausted already. The space was protected and he curled up tightly and closed his eyes. Maybe if he slept, he would wake up with the world back the way it should be. He'd be in his own bed, or better yet, Vic's, with the older man wrapped around him like he was an oversized body pillow. 

With that thought in mind, he slipped into sleep with a soft smile on his face. 

* * *

Vic followed Mac's trail, wincing as it headed into the wilder areas. Mac was headed into Gangrel territory, where even _he_ was barely tolerated. As far as Moira and her lot were concerned, he was only put up with because the Director was capable of forcing them out of Toronto. If they found another Kindred in their territory... 

He'd seen them tear apart a mugger, once, who'd thought he could escape into the reserve and the cops wouldn't find him. He was right about that though: there hadn't been enough of him _left_ to find. 

Vic picked up his pace. He had to find Mac before someone else did. 

* * *

Mac was drifting in a pleasant haze. He and Vic were walking along the shore of Lake Ontario, someplace outside of town. There were trees almost all the way to the waterline, and the song of night birds blending with the lap of the waves was the only sound. 

Then something grabbed his ankle and he looked down. A hand had burst up out of the sand and had a grip like iron on his leg. He stared at in shock for a moment. 

Then it started to pull him down, the sand sucking him like some sick form of quicksand. Vic grabbed his wrist and pulled in the other direct, shouting something he couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears. The suction increased, and between it and Vic, he felt like he was going to be ripped apart. 

He kicked out with his free—free?—leg and heard a snarl of pain. His eyes flew open and he realized that he'd been dreaming, but he really was being pulled out of his shelter. He'd grabbed onto the trunk of the bush in his sleep, but he could feel the roots starting to go. Realizing that he had no choice, he let go, and shot out from his little nest. 

He went flying, and whoever it was twisting his ankle lost his grip and went sprawling too, cursing the whole time. 

Despite the confusion of the night—and the previous night—his reflexes were still sharp. Mac rolled and came up in a martial arts ready stance. The brief nap had been exactly he needed to finish clearing his mind, although the burning in his gut was intensifying to the near pain stage again. 

What he saw didn't reassure him. Facing him were four men that practically reeked. They all had silver eyes and talons that were almost as long as their fingers. They also reminded him of Vic's temporary teacher, Moira. She'd had pointed and tufted ears like an animal, and these ones had similar... deformities. One had feathers instead of hair, one was shoeless and his feet resembled paws more than feet. One was so hairy that he almost counted as furred. The last looked nearly human, but there was something about him that made the hairs on the back of Mac's neck rise up. 

The feathered one was back on his feet after Mac's unexpected move had sent him flying. The four started to sidle to the side, obviously trying to surround him. He shifted, trying to keep them all in view, but he was honest enough to admit to himself that he didn't have much chance of stopping them. He might be hot shit in a fight, but four-on-one were lousy odds, even for him. 

"Hey, guys," he said, trying to put on an ingratiating smile. "Do we really need to do this?" 

Paws-for-feet chortled in a way that made his teeth grit. "Oh, yeah, we do. Did you really think you could just waltz in, trespassing, and get off scot-free?" 

"Especially one of _your_ kind?" Black-and-furred added in a deep, gravelly voice that was almost a growl. 

"Um, my kind?" Mac was almost twisting, trying to keep Feathers in view. In another moment, one of them was going to reach his blind spot and he would be dead meat. 

"Yes, _your_ kind." Paws' eyes narrowed as he looked at Mac. Then he grinned very unpleasantly. "Boys, I think what we have here is a baby. The _freshest_ of meat." 

That pronouncement was answered by a chorus of chuckles. Mac gulped, then continued to try to brazen his way out. "I don't doubt that you can kill me," he said, going for the honest approach, "but it wouldn't be a smart move." 

Raucous laughter greeted that statement. "And why not?" Paws asked. He seemed like he was the leader of the mini-pack. 

"Because he's not alone." 

* * *

Hearing voices up ahead, Vic broke into a run. The rain had nearly stopped, so visibility was good enough for him to see Mac surrounded by four of Moira's top dogs, so to speak. Mac was trying to talk them out of killing him, but Vic could tell that they weren't going to go along with it. Martin —the one with the feathers—in particular had a streak of cruelty a mile wide. He'd seen the man hunt and kill a terrified homeless kid, while his bully boys had kept Vic from interfering. When he'd complained to Moira, she'd laughed in his face. 'This is what Gangrel is,' she'd told him. Well, not _this_ Gangrel. The mugger he'd been able to justify to himself. The kid had been a different matter. 

"I don't doubt that you can kill me," Mac was saying, "but it wouldn't be a smart move." 

"And why not?" Jazz asked with a sneer. Martin might be the cruelest, but Jazz was the smartest. But not right now. Now he was in a really stupid place to be 

Vic smiled: It was payback time. "Because he's not alone." 

Jamal was the biggest of the bunch, heavy muscle under the dark fur, so Vic tackled him first. The big man went down under him in an inelegant heap, and Vic hit him in the head a few times until he went limp. He was still alive, but out of the picture. 

Then Vic was back on his feet, looking for the next opponent. 

* * *

The new voice was completely unexpected by everyone. Mac's four attackers all twisted to see who it was, but Mac took the chance to go after the weird one. He couldn't explain it, but the man scared the shit out of him and he wanted to get him out of the way _fast_. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vic tackle the big furry one, and the two went flying. Meanwhile, Mac kicked for Creepy's head, but the man twisted out of the way in a move that was definitely _not_ human. He laughed, and stuck out his tongue at Mac. 

Mac recoiled. The guy didn't have a normal tongue, he had a _snake's_ tongue. Complete with fork at the tip. 

The man laughed again, more hiss than chuckle, and wiggled his tongue in a way that was downright obscene. Mac's skin crawled. He _hated_ snakes. With a bellow, he attacked with both fists and feet, fueled by disgust and near-panic. As a result, he was almost surprised when the man went down hard, accompanied by the sickening crack of breaking bones. The man's neck was bent at an unnatural angle, but he was still flopping, trying to get up. Mac didn't know if a Kindred could recover from a broken neck and he really didn't want to find out. 

But he was a little surprised at how _easily_ he'd taken the man down. While he'd realized he was now Kindred himself, he hadn't really _believed_ it. However, after this little show of strength, he didn't really have much choice. 

Welcome to life after death, Mac Ramsey. 

Unfortunately, he was so caught up in his ruminations on the nature of life, or un-life, that he forgot about the others. Even more unfortunately, they hadn't forgotten him. He found this out when a very cold, very sharp blade pressed against his throat. 

* * *

Jamal was down for the count and from the look of it, so was Sidney the snake. Mac looked like he was going into shock, but Vic didn't have the chance to reassure him. Before he could take a step in the direction of the younger man, Martin slammed into him. 

The fall would have knocked the air from his lungs if he wasn't Kindred: There were some benefits to being a vampire, and not needing to breathe was one of them. 

Instead, he twisted away from the man, avoiding talons and claws that were going for vulnerable spots. He kept rolling until he ended up back on his feet, facing his opponent. He might not be a flying kung-fu master like his partners, but in a street brawl, no one could out-mean him. 

"Down, lap-dog, or the baby gets it." 

Vic cursed silently. While he'd been paying attention to the fighters in the foursome, Jazz had managed to get behind Mac and was now holding a wicked looking dagger to his partner's throat. It was certainly sharp enough to decapitate him, something that would be beyond to even a Kindred's abilities to heal. 

Behind him, he heard Jamal groan and slowly get to his feet. Sidney would be a bit longer, but Martin was almost growling in his eagerness to get at Vic. A glance from Jazz quelled him, but just barely. 

"You want to live?" Vic asked softly, not taking his eyes off the man or his knife. Jazz's feathers were fluffed up, showing that despite his confident words, he was agitated. 

The man laughed, a slight edge to the sound. "I'm the one who should be asking that," he said. 

Vic shrugged, playing it cool. "This is Toronto. I may be the Prince's lapdog, but she takes care of her people. And she avenges them. Kill _two_ of her people and you haven't a chance in hell of getting out of the city alive. She'd call a hunt. Let us go and you'll have the chance to get out of town with your skins intact." 

His words were answered by a chorus of growls, but he refused to allow that to affect him. They were getting out of this alive, but not if he didn't keep his cool. 

"You two vanish and how's she to know _how_ you died?" 

Vic snorted. "I'm just the first one to get here. Dobrinsky and his boys were right behind me. I just ran faster." 

Jazz's eyes flickered in the direction Vic had arrived from, then back to him. "I don't believe you," he said, but he didn't sound completely sure of that. 

"Your funeral." Vic shrugged. Jazz might not believe him, but Mac was relaxing. Vic met his eyes and did his best to project reassurance. 

Then, ever so faintly, came the sound of voices, coming closer. 

"This is Gangrel territory," Jazz blustered. "The Prince can't just send invaders with impunity." 

That bit of bravado had Vic choking off a slightly bitter laugh. "You don't know her very well, do you? She does whatever she wants, when she wants, and you don't tell her 'no.' The Gangrel live in Toronto on her sufferance, and I doubt that Moira would appreciate you screwing that up for the entire clan." 

The voices were getting closer now. He could almost tell which was Dobrinsky. "Choose fast," he said, flexing his fingers before drawing them up into fists. "Run, and I'll make sure you have time to get out of town, but only if you go now. Wait any longer and the four of you will be hauled into her presence, and so will Moira. Who knows, maybe your boss will kill you herself, sparing _my_ boss the need to get her hands dirty." 

He could see the man fidgeting. He didn't turn his head as one of the four took off, heading away from the newcomers. He didn't have to look to tell who it was: Martin might be cruel, but he was also a coward. If his prey fought back, he ran. Why Moira allowed him to stay, Vic would never know. 

"Go, Jazz, before it's too late," he said softly 

The man hesitated for one moment longer. Then he pushed Mac directly into Vic and took off, Jamal right behind him. The only one left with them was Sidney, who wasn't in any shape to move. 

He could hear Dobrinsky calling his name and speculating on his parentage, but he didn't bother to answer. Instead, he clutched Mac to him, reassuring himself that the younger man was... well, alive wasn't the right term, but at least he was still in one piece. He was clinging, he knew, but at least Mac was clinging back just as tightly. 

They were still wrapped up tightly in each other's arms when Dobrinsky arrived to take them home. 

* * *

Mac fidgeted under the Director's glare as she paced back the length of the room then turned and did it again. He did his best to look as innocent as he possibly could. Hanging onto Vic's hand helped with his anxiety levels, but it nothing about the burning in his gut. This time, he knew it was because he needed to... drink, but he really wasn't too crazy about _what_ he had to drink. He might enjoy Vic drinking from him, but deep down, the idea of drinking blood himself was a little disconcerting. 

Nerves getting the better of him, he started to chew on the inside of his lip and winced as his fangs—fangs he hadn't noticed yet—sliced the tender skin open. It hurt, but the taste of little bit of blood that came out made the burning grow. He whimpered slightly and clutched Vic's had a little tighter. Now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off, his brain seemed to be shutting down again. 

The Director didn't miss the small sound. "Oh, for pity's sake." She headed over to her desk. A locked drawer was opened and she pulled out a baggie filled with red fluid. "Here," she said, sliding over the table surface to Mac. "Drink that before you lose it." 

Mac stared at the thing with distaste, but he could smell the blood. While his brain was screaming "Yuck!" at him, his instincts were saying "Yes!". 

He picked up the baggie, and those instincts took over. His fangs ripped into the plastic and his mouth filled with cold, delicious fluid. Almost immediately, his mind cleared again. Some of the precious liquid escaped and ran down his face to drip onto his 'borrowed' clothing. He didn't care. It tasted as good as he remembered. 

In fact, it tasted _exactly_ like he remembered. 

That thought was like a splash of cold water in the face. He lowered the empty baggie and met the Director's eyes. "Kata?" 

The woman's smile was positively feral. "She didn't need it anymore." 

Mac gulped and fought the urge to vomit. He'd was drinking the blood of the woman who'd Embraced him. A woman who was now _permanently_ dead. 

And yet, deep down, he couldn't find it in him to care. His only regret was that he hadn't been there to help. He started drinking again, this time a little more slowly. 

The Director watched him, a hard expression on her face. Finished, he put down the limp plastic and wiped his face on the sleeve of the oversized U of T sweatshirt he was wearing. 

She leaned back against her desk, tapping her long fingernails against the size. "You know," she said in an overly reasonable tone, "If I didn't like you so much, I would kill you." He flinched. "I mean, how is it you keep getting yourself into these messes?" She paused and waited expectantly. Mac opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't think of anything to say. 

Luckily, Vic _did_ have something to say, and he took the opportunity to jump in. "In this case, he got into this mess because _no one_ bothered to tell him what we were really up against." He glared at the Director and Mac wondered just what he'd missed in the last couple of days. 

The Director's eyebrow went up. "Are you suggesting that this is my fault?" she asked in a voice that almost dripped with sarcasm. "Did I tell him to go to a nightclub after his little excursion instead of coming back here? In case you've forgotten," she added, turning her attention back on Mac, " _I_ pay your salary." 

"I didn't realize I was on company time," Mac said, then had to fight the urge to cringe under her glare. 

Actually, she had a good point. Going to a nightclub after his break-in _was_ a pretty stupid thing to do, and thinking back, he couldn't really remember _why_ he'd decided to do it. 

He frowned. For that matter, he couldn't remember leaving the club either. "How did they grab me?" he said softly, not really aiming the question at either Vic or their boss. 

The Director frowned at him. "You don't know?" 

Mac shook his head. "After I left the ROM, I just had the feeling that I _had_ to go dancing. But I don't remember anything after getting there until I woke up in Guylaine's dungeon." 

The Director finally stopped her tapping and crossed her arms over her chest. "Nothing at all?" she asked. 

Mac closed his eyes and scrunched up his face in an effort to force the memories. "I remember dancing. Then..." he paused, not sure he wanted to say the rest, it was so crazy. "I remember flashes of a gypsy camp and fiddles and a woman singing." 

The Director was silent, and when he opened his eyes again, her gaze bored into him. Finally, she seemed to relent. "You were influenced, so I suppose you can't be completely blamed. This time. But I suggest you don't let it happen again." 

She moved to take her seat at the head of the conference table, the seat she gave them their instructions from. She stared at him for a long moment. Then a small smile forced its way free. "But still, only you could end up in this position, deliberately or not." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, of all the clans you could have been embraced by, it figures that it would have to be Ravnos." 

Mac glanced at Vic and clutched his hand a little tighter. "What sort of clan is that?" he asked, his voice breaking a little. 

She snorted. "Ravnos and Gangrel don't get along, despite legends that say they are related. But relax, it's a... political animosity, if you like, not an instinctual one. The two of you aren't going to be playing Romeo and Juliet anytime soon. 

"As for what sort of clan they are, they're mostly gypsy-born, thieves, smugglers, con-men." She shook her head. "Chaos. They refuse to join either the Camarilla or the Sabbat. The last thing any prince wants is for the Ravnos to move into town. If they are noticed, they're run out of town or killed. On the other hand, being gypsies, they tend to travel a lot, which is why they still exist at all." 

This time it was Vic who snorted. "No wonder she kept saying that Mac was meant to be one of them." 

"Exactly. He would be irresistible to any Ravnos that crossed his path." 

Mac wasn't sure whether he was being complemented or insulted, but they had a point. Other than the first few years of his life before his mother had died, he'd traveled the world, learning the art of the con from his unreliable father. After his adoption by the Tangs, those skills had been refined, turning him into one of the best thieves in the world, if he did say so himself. 

"And what about Guylaine?" Vic asked. 

The Director deflated. Mac stared in disbelief: he couldn't remember ever seeing the woman look so defeated. "Kata was... convinced to tell us where she was, but by the time the team got there, she was gone." She didn't look angry that the ringleader had escaped, Mac noted. Instead, she seemed almost sad. 

He opened his mouth to ask, but Vic squeezed his hand warningly. "I'll explain later," he hissed. 

Now he _really_ wanted to know what had happened while he'd been playing hostage, but he decided to wait until he and Vic got home. 

With a start, he realized that when he thought of home, it was Vic's place that came to mind. He squeezed Vic's hand and leaned a little closer. The older man glanced at him and smiled warmly. Yeah, home was a good idea. A real home. 

The Director sighed. "It's nearly dawn, so I suppose that the two of you should head off. Normally, I wouldn't let Mac go anywhere, but he seems to be doing as well, if not better than you did, Victor. And by the way, your fridge has been stocked for two." 

Mac was on his feet immediately, and pulled Vic in the direction of the door. He did _not_ want to know what the alternative to him going home would be. 

They just made it to the door when the Director called out, "Mac!" 

He winced, then turned around. He should have known that getting away wouldn't be _that_ easy. 

"I think this belongs to you," she said mildly, then tossed something at him. 

Reflexes took over and he plucked the object out of the air. Opening his hand, he smiled. "Thanks," he said softly, and hung his pendant back where it belonged, around his neck. For a moment it seemed to pulse warmly against his skin, almost like a living thing. 

Then he turned and followed Vic out the door. 

He wanted to go home. 

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Vic nearly had to carry Mac into the apartment. The sun was coming up and he could feel it like an itch under his skin, like a cut draining all his energy away. "Should be wearing white," he mumbled as Vic unlocked the door while trying to balance his weight. 

He was answered by a snort. "White is for virgins, so unless there's been a miracle of epic proportions, you don't count." 

Mac found the energy to smile. "Haven't I been reborn? Everything is new again, including me, so I _am_ a virgin. Again." 

Vic stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then nearly fell over laughing. If Mac hadn't known better, he might have thought that the man was having hysterics. 

"Fine," Vic said, wiping away pink-tinged tears. "You're a virgin. Do you want to wait for me to go find you something white to change into, or do you want to go to bed?" 

Mac closed his eyes. "Bed," he whispered, awed at the thought. Beds were soft with covers and pillows and someone to curl up against. Beds didn't have earth or leaves. Beds were wonderful things. 

Vic caught him as he started to slip down the wall he'd been leaning against. "Bed," he said firmly. 

Seemingly an instant later, Mac landed on the promised bed. He blinked and Vic was gone. He blinked again and his partner was back, carrying a couple of those damned blood baggies. "Here," Vic said. He started to toss the baggie, then thought about it and decided to just hand it to him. 

Mac stared at the squishy thing. "Huh?" was all he could say. It looked liked a red version of those icky breast-implant thingies. 

"Drink it, or you'll wake up starving." Leading by example, Vic draining his own baggie. 

Deciding that since the other man had been doing this longer—by a few months, at least—Mac did the same. He still found the idea distasteful, and the baggie was _so_ uncouth, but the taste was... incredible. 

But he didn't really have time to enjoy it before his eyes started to drift shut. He tried to force them open again, but his entire body had gone limp. 

Dimly, he could feel Vic stripping him down to bare skin, then climbing in next to him. Vic was naked too, and while usually a naked Vic was to be enjoyed, he couldn't move a muscle. 

Vic curled up around him, a comforting presence. "Go to sleep," he whispered in Mac's ear. "Tonight we can discuss what happened. But for now, just sleep." 

And Mac did. 

* * *

The Director watched the two men on the screen. They looked good together, she couldn't deny, even though this had never been in her plans. San Francisco was supposed to be a turning point for her favorite team, but she'd foolishly thought she could decide what direction they would be turning to. 

She briefly considered separating them. Julian might be willing to take Mac in. Then again, considering the young man's resemblance to the late, lamented Zane, that might not be a good idea. Or maybe she could send Vic to the Prince of Vancouver. After all, he did owe her a favor. 

Then she shook her head ruefully. She'd practically thrown them together. She couldn't complain if it had... 'taken' better than she had expected. If the separation during Vic's training period hadn't cooled them off, nothing would. 

And now she had the additional problem of Mac's Embrace. 

She gritted her teeth in frustration. Mac was supposed to be _Ventrue_ , damnit. She'd planned it all out so carefully. True, he had a taste for larceny, but he also had the polish and the poise of a Ventrue. All he needed were the rough edges filed off, the impatience tempered. She'd even considered taking him as her own Childe, before deciding that Dobrinsky would do a better job of taking him in hand. 

And now he was Ravnos. Might as well call him chaos. 

Still, she would deal with it. That's why she was Prince; to deal with the tough problems. And unfortunately, Mac wasn't the toughest one. 

Her phone rang and she stared at it, waiting for it to rear up and bite her. It did no such thing, though. It just kept ringing. 

Finally, about the tenth ring, she stabbed the speaker button. "What?" 

A soft chuckle answered her, and she stiffened. "Guylaine." 

"Who else? Did you miss me?" 

"Get within firing range and I won't." 

More laughter. "Such a far cry from the worshipful little sister I remember." 

"Well, we all grown up sooner or later," she said, resting her chin on her intertwined fingers, staring off into space. 

"A pity. I quite miss my little sister." 

The Director snorted and shook her head. "Yes, you miss me so much that you came to town just to see me." 

"Actually, I did. I wanted to see just how good a Prince my dear Dianne had become. I was quite impressed with your two boys. They took out my little operation, stopped my right-hand man. Or woman, I should say. Very impressive for a baby Gangrel and a human." 

"Don't play games, Guylaine. The only reason they got as close as they did was because you let them. Why?" 

"Did you like my last present?" the voice on the other end of the phone said, bypassing the question. 

"And which one would that be?" the Director asked, leaning back in her chair. 

"Why, your little boy, of course. He'll make such a lovely Ravnos, I think. So much untapped potential, there. A pity you didn't think to take advantage of it sooner. So ripe for plucking, and I beat you to it." 

"He's still mine," she replied, bristling at the satisfied tone in her sister's voice. 

"Exactly. And every time you look at him, you'll see plans thwarted. I had him first, and every day, you'll have to face that. Enjoy." 

There was a click, followed by a dial-tone. 

It was a long time before she could bring herself to turn that dial-tone off. 

She glanced back at the screen where she could see Mac and Vic, still wrapped tightly around each other, and made a decision. Keeping them together kept them _both_ tied to her. And it wouldn't take much encouragement on her part of bind them even closer. 

* * *

The sun was heading down when Vic finally woke. It was late for him, but all of the stress and activity of the last few days had exhausted him. He felt completely drained, but absolutely fantastic at the same time. 

Mac was still in the same position he'd landed in that morning, looking almost heartbreakingly pale. His chest didn't rise, Vic couldn't hear a heartbeat and he was cool to the touch. To every sense, Mac seemed dead. In fact, technically speaking he _was_ dead. 

But at the same time, he wasn't. While Vic wished he could have had the chance to personally rip Kata to shreds for hurting his lover, at least she'd Embraced him instead of just killing him. Mac was Kindred now, which meant that forever just got a whole lot longer. 

And forever was what he wanted. He and Mac had been dancing around the whole commitment issue, even _before_ San Francisco, if he was honest with himself. And while forever was just the sort of thing he wanted, he hadn't been sure that it was something Mac could give him. 

But after nearly losing Mac, he'd decided that he'd rather try and fail than not try at all. Mac was his and anyone who tried to take him away was going to learn to just what lengths he was willing to go to keep him. 

Now, if Mac _wanted_ to leave him, that would be a different matter, and he wasn't sure just what he'd do then. Let him go? Turn stalker? He really wasn't sure. 

In the meantime, the sun would be setting in a half-hour, and he knew from personal experience that despite the snack before bed, Mac would wake up starving. For that matter, he was more than a little hungry himself. 

He could hear the sound of rain on the large picture-windows in the living room, muted by the thick drapes, so he was safe to leave the bedroom. He headed for the kitchen to make sure that they had enough blood for the night at least, then stopped dead. 

In the middle of his tidy living room was a pile of boxes, along with two larger wardrobe boxes. There was a note pinned to the side of one of them and he pulled it off and started reading. 

"Victor," the note said in the Director's no-nonsense script. "Mac's apartment will require major renovations before it is... livable. There are no other appropriate accommodations available at the moment, so Mac will be staying with you for the time being. 

"I will leave it to you to teach him the basics that he needs to know. I will expect to see you both on Monday after sunset. 

"Enjoy yourselves." 

He could almost see her smirk in the last line of the note, and it was matched by the one on his own face. It was just too bad that Mac had to move in with him. And who knew for how long? Reading between the lines, he could read matchmaking there. They'd just been given the equivalent of a honeymoon. 

Now he just had to hope that Mac didn't run scared when he found out. 

Leaving the boxes for the moment—they could unpack Mac's stuff later— he continued on to the kitchen. The fridge had enough blood to keep them going for almost a week. He dropped a couple of baggies into a large bowl and set the kettle to boil. Blood tasted better at... well, blood-temperature, and pouring boiling water on the baggie didn't make it clot the way the microwave did. 

Vic stopped and shook his head in bemusement. Only a few months ago, saying something like that would have made him ill. Now it was just a fact of life. 

As soon as the blood had warmed up enough, he quickly drank it down. He started a couple more baggies warming for Mac, then had a different thought. 

Almost immediately, his cock surged to life and he found himself drifting back towards the bedroom. He'd seen the effect of his own feedings on Mac, but he'd never had the chance to experience that for himself. After all, he wasn't about to go around asking the Director or anyone else to bite him. He didn't _want_ any of the Kindred at the Agency to bite him. But the though of _Mac_ biting him... 

He moaned softly in the back of his throat, standing in the doorway, watching Mac sleep. Pale and unmoving, he looked like he was carved from marble. Soft marble. Touchable marble. 

He moved forward and tugged the covers down the bed, leaving Mac bare to his eyes. He'd seen the young man naked before, but nearly having lost him added a spice to the experience. 

Mac was definitely the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. 

He could feel the sun slipping below the horizon as he crawled up the length of the bed to hover on all fours above Mac, waiting for the moment when the new-born Kindred woke. He had to fight the urge to just take the man; an act that would be akin to rape in Mac's unconscious state. Besides, he liked his partners a little more... involved. 

The moment the sun was completely gone, Mac's eyes flew open, already gleaming silver. "Vic?" he said, a little hoarse. 

* * *

"Vic?" 

Mac stared up into the eyes of his partner and frowned. He lifted a hand to trace the ridge of bone below one eye. 

"What?" Vic said. 

Mac opened his mouth, then shook his head. "Nothing." He wasn't sure he was coherent enough to explain to Vic that his eyes were... different. Not noticeably unless you looked real close, but the feline green eyes were even more feline than they'd been before. 

Then his nostrils flared. He could smell blood. Blood on Vic's breath. Vic had been drinking blood. Blood. 

He growled softly in the back of his throat and reared up to catch the man's mouth in a kiss. The taste of blood was there too, and he plunged his tongue into the man's mouth, hunting for more. More taste. More blood. More Vic. 

He reached up and grabbed Vic, pulling the man down on top of him. He dimly heard the man chuckle, but ignored it. He needed to touch, to feel, to taste. He wrapped arms and legs around the man to keep him from getting away while he finished plundering his mouth. 

But it wasn't enough. While the taste was there, his instincts were crying for the real thing. He ended the kiss and buried his face in Vic's throat, shuddering. "Vic," he whispered, trying to articulate what he needed. 

In response, Vic tilted his head back, exposing the entire length of his throat. "Go ahead," he said in a tone of voice that was almost a moan. 

Taking the invitation, Mac fixed his lips on the offered throat and sucked hard. He tickled the flesh with the tip of his tongue and felt Vic shudder against him. That shudder aroused more needs in him, the need to dominate, to take. 

He surged upwards, flipping them over. He landed on top of Vic, his mouth never having let go of the man's throat. Vic was making whimpering little noises that just made him hotter. 

Mac reached over and pulled the bedside table's drawer open and pulled out a tube, going just by feel. He was able to control himself long enough to coat his cock with gel, but need was screaming through his veins. He tossed the tube over his shoulder, dimly hearing it hit the floor with a moist thud, then pushed Vic's legs apart, tilting the man's hips to the right angle. 

He pulled away from Vic long enough to moan the man's name, then sank his cock into the man's ass the same time as he sank his fangs into the man's throat. 

Tight. Liquid. Feel. Taste. Scent. Scream. Vic exploded across his every sense, and he found the control to wonder if this was what Vic felt every time he fed on Mac, fucked Mac. It was so damned _good_. Mac wanted to fuck Vic, keep fucking him until the world crashed down around them. Vic's blood was flooding down his throat, soothing the hungry burn. Vic's ass was clenching around him, soothing the other burn. Everything he wanted—the _beast_ wanted—was found right here. 

He heard Vic scream one last time, then he arched up against Mac, spraying them both with cum. The scent added to the whole sensory cocktail that was happening and Mac pulled away from the vein he'd been nursing on and roared his approval, his hips pumping at blinding speed as he emptied himself into the other man. 

Then he collapsed onto Vic, his eyes shutting, remembering how the French called an orgasm 'the little death' before the world went away again. 

* * *

Mac didn't think he was unconscious for long, just a few minutes. He opened his eyes to see Vic sitting next to him with an amused look and two mugs in his hands. 

"Good evening, again," Vic said in a chipper voice that made him growl. Mac pushed up into a seated position and accepted the mug held out to him. He sniffed it briefly, then chugged the thick liquid down. 

He eyed Vic, who was sipping his own blood in nonchalant way. "Are you okay?" he asked when the older man stayed silent. 

"Hmm? Me? I'm fine. I'm better than fine." The man's lips curved up in a satisfied smile. "In fact, I'm fantastic." 

Mac should feel guilty for nearly raping the man, but the feeling just wasn't coming. Vic certainly didn't look injured. Or upset. What he looked like was someone who'd been royally fucked and loved it. It was a look that Mac really liked. 

But if Kata'd had her way, he never would have seen Vic again, like this or any other way. And if those three Gangrel'd had _their_ way, he would never have seen _anything_ again. He'd nearly lost everything important in his life, and Vic topped that list. 

Mac put his mug down, then took Vic's mug from the man and put it on the table next to his and pulled the man into his arms. He could feel the confusion radiating from the man, but he stayed silent. He needed to feel Vic against him, to know that he hadn't lost everything. 

After a moment, Vic relaxed against him, his arms coming up to wrap around Mac's back. Mac pulled him a little closer and sighed in contentment. 

"Mac?" 

Mac took a deep breath, taking in the scent of blood, of sex, of Vic. "Yeah." 

"Are _you_ okay?" 

He thought about it for a moment, then smiled. "I'm great." 

"Good." 

"Can I move in?" 

Vic stiffened, and he wondered if he was pushing a little too hard. All he knew was that he didn't want to let go. Ever. "Do you want to?" Vic asked. 

"Makes sense," he prevaricated. "The bedroom at my place has a big window." 

"Is that the only reason?" 

He slumped a little. "I want to be here. With you." 

"For how long?" He could hear the tension in Vic's voice, and started to second-guess himself. 

However, it was too late to back down. "Forever? Or at least until you want me to leave." 

Vic's arms tightened around him. "Forever sounds good," the man whispered. 

Mac pulled back and met Vic's eyes seriously. "I've tried forever twice now," he said, thinking of LiAnn and Claire and how those relationships had ended. "I failed both times. But I do want to try." 

Vic smiled slowly. "Good, because I wasn't planning on letting you leave. And luckily, the Director seems to agree." 

"Huh?" 

Vic's smile turned to a smirk. "Everything you own is in boxes in the living room. She says there's no other Agency apartment available, so you have to stay here temporarily. Personally, I was planning on it being permanent." 

He was? "The Director?" 

Vic kissed him hard, then pulled back again. "In fact, she's given us until Monday off." 

"Time off?" 

"Yep. To teach you the basics, she said." 

Mac frowned. "She was here?" He had a sudden image of the Director molesting them in their sleep. It was just the sort of thing she'd do, too. 

Vic pushed him onto his back and kissed him again. "She just left a note," the man reassured him, then kissed him a third time. 

He was still wrapping his thoughts around the idea of the Director ordering them to move in together. On the other hand, was it really much different from locking the two of them in a room together after Vic's Embrace? He'd had the feeling that she disapproved of them continuing to sleep together, though, but now she was throwing them together. 

He'd never understand the woman. 

But since she seemed to be encouraging them, at least for the time being... 

Mac purred softly as Vic nibbled on his earlobe. "Monday, huh?" "Yep." 

"Whatever shall we do until then?" 

He felt Vic smile against his throat before thrusting against Mac's groin with an already recovering erection. 

"Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something." 

Oh, yeah. He could certainly think of something to do. A lot of somethings. 

Mac spread his legs and offered himself to his lover. 

* * *

Jackie weaved her way through the crowd, ready to enjoy a night out. After the last few days, she needed some relaxation, and a rave was just the ticket as far as she was concerned. 

The conference in the States had been pretty damned dull, so Jackie hadn't minded when the Director had called them back unexpectedly. Dobrinsky had been sent to back up Vic and Mac—just how _did_ those boys get themselves into these messes?—while she'd been sent to clean up the dance club that the bad guys had been operating out of. 

There hadn't been much left to clean up, and when they'd been sent to the big cheese's place, it had been cleaner than a baby's bottom. Then again, maybe that wasn't a good comparison to use. Whatever. The place had been spotless, nothing useful left behind for them to find. Not that that had stopped the Director from making her spend two nights going over every square inch with a all-Kindred team. You'd think it was personal or something. 

But she'd finally admitted defeat and had given Jackie the weekend off, and she was going to take advantage of it. 

She popped a couple of tablets, then took a swig from her water bottle. Ecstasy was a favorite of the young crowd, and while it didn't have the same effect on her that it did on them, it did provide a really nice buzz. 

The bottle empty, she tossed it away and dove into the writhing crowd. The heavy techno beat was making the walls vibrate and she wanted to _dance_. And after that, maybe a little hunting. She grinned. 

Then she saw something out of the corner of her eye and twisted to get a better look. A slim figure was working her way towards an exit. Forgetting about dancing, Jackie followed. 

The press of bodies made the going tough, and she had to resort to elbows and claws to discourage a few hands that tried to hold her back or grope her. One persistent asshole even got a fanged snarl in his face, which got him to back off in a hurry. 

But by the time she made it to the door, the other woman was gone. 

Jackie stood in the doorway, looking up and down the street outside. There was no sign of the woman she'd seen. Or had she really seen what she thought she'd seen? 

After all, wasn't LiAnn still in China? 

END OF ON A WIRE 

* * *

Book III: Never the Twain  
Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is _with_ that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see. 


	5. Book III: Never the Twain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.

**Never the Twain  
by Lianne Burwell **

Carpe Noctem Book Three 

  
**Chapter One**

In the middle of winter, January or February, when the skies are grey and the winds blow, the people of Toronto think longingly of summer, sunny and warm. But come summer, with the heat and humidity and the aroma of a city in August, people think fondly of cold and snow, forgetting the slush and bitter winds. 

That was normal. What was not normal was having an August heat wave that lasted most of the month, and tempers were starting to fray. 

And when tempers frayed, violence was the result. Deaths like the one that the police were currently investigating in an alleyway not far from one of the many dance clubs that made Toronto's nightlife what it was. 

As expected, a crowd of curious bystanders had collected, kept to the other side of the street by yellow tape and the glares of the sweating police officers. It was a large crowd, even though it was well after midnight. So large that no one noticed that one person at the back of the crowd didn't seem to fit in. 

Older and better dressed, wearing a discrete charcoal grey suit that was surely tailored just for him. He ignored the excited speculation of the crowd surrounding him. Instead, he was craning his neck, just like the rest of them, trying to see the covered gurney being loaded into the back of an ambulance for the trip to the morgue. He also seemed to be trying to hear the discussions of the police, even though he should not be able to hear them from that distance. 

After a bit, the man walked away, heading down the street at a measured pace. No one gave him a second glance, even though a well-dressed black man leaving the scene of a crime normally would. As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight, he pulled a cellphone from his pocket and hit a single quick-dial button. 

"We have another one," he said, then tucked the phone back into his pocket. 

* * *

Jackie Janczyk, junior Agency operative and Malkavian, made her way through the dance club crowd, her ears open for any interesting tidbits of information to relay back to her Prince. Gossip, both heard and spread, was the purpose of the court's Harpies, and while she far too young to be a full Harpy, she planned on eventually being the chief Harpy of Toronto. She'd be a good one, too; she was sure of it. 

Most Harpies devoted themselves to the ins and outs of Kindred society, but the Prince of Toronto was also heavily involved in human society as the Director of the Agency, so Jackie was using that for her personal training. She'd already identified three major drug dealers in the last month alone who were moving into Toronto to take advantage of the vacuum left by Ramirez's takeover and subsequent destruction. The Director had decided to leave those dealers unopposed for the time being until the situation had stabilized. While she—and most of the people who worked for her—considered drugs to be a blight on the so-called civilized world, she wasn't willing to allow the chaos caused by addicts without a source. 

However, once things _had_ stabilized, those dealers would find their trade strictly controlled. This was the Director's chance to expand her reach, to impose her _own_ form of order on the city, and she was going to take it. 

But gossip wasn't Jackie's only reason for hunting through Toronto's nightlife. Neither was the dancing or the chance to hunt. No, she was looking for someone. Someone very specific. 

LiAnn Tsei. 

It had been several months now since she'd caught a glimpse of the woman—or at least one who looked remarkably like her—at a rave. She hadn't mentioned it to the Director or anyone else though since it had only been a glimpse, so she couldn't prove that it _had_ been the oriental. 

For one thing, LiAnn was supposed to still be in China. It had been nearly six months since the traumatized agent had climbed onto a flight to go home to confront the parents who had sold her to a brothel as a child, since the Director felt that she needed to get some closure on her past. However it had been more than five months since anyone had heard from her, and Jackie knew that the Director was getting worried, not that the woman would willingly let anyone know. 

Certainly she wasn't about to let Mac or Vic know. They would probably do something boneheaded and macho, like get on a plane and rush off to China to rescue her. Assuming she needed rescue. 

Unfortunately, Asia was just about the only part of the world where the Camarilla's hand couldn't reach, although Jackie didn't know why. All she knew was that Kindred— _any_ Kindred —who dared to go to that part of the world never came back, unless it was in pieces. Even the Princes respected whatever was there. 

So they had a missing agent, out of reach on the other side of the world, but Jackie was sure that she'd seen the woman here in Toronto. It was a mystery and she loved mysteries. It was her one big weakness and she had the bookcase full of crime novels to prove it. 

So her spare time was spent haunting the Toronto night scene, asking questions and keeping her eyes and ears open. She hadn't seen LiAnn again, but showing her picture around had found a few leads. Like this one. 

"Yeah!" the young man said, nodding vigorously over the photograph, still dancing in place. "Saw her a couple of nights ago. Maybe last week." 

"Where?" He shrugged. "Was she with anyone?" 

"Yeah. Jack... something or other." 

Jackie rolled her eyes. Still, from the wasted look of the guy, she should probably counter herself lucky that he could remember his own name, assuming he _could_. "Can you at least tell me what he looks like?" She yelled over the heavy beat of the music. 

"Sure! He had a wicked new do. Purple with silver tips." 

"Do you know where I can find him?" 

He shrugged again. "Haven't seen him since then," he hollered, obviously not concerned. 

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but someone passing by snagged the guy's arm and dragged him away. She thought about going after him, then decided that she'd probably gotten every bit of useful information from him that she was going to. 

Instead, she made her way off the dance floor and to the bar where she squeezed her way to the front. "Tequila," she yelled to the bartender when she had his attention. Almost as if by magic, a shot glass, saltshaker and lime wedge appeared in front of her. She went through the ritual with practiced ease before tossing back the liquor and sighing as the buzz hit. Not much of one, but a buzz nonetheless. 

"Want another?" a voice asked behind her. 

Jackie twisted and had to look up to see the man's face. Smug, slick and very definitely good-looking. He had black hair, dark eyes and dusky skin that suggested India. One eyebrow was quirked up in both question and invitation, and that invitation was obviously for more than just a drink. Jackie found herself almost mesmerized by the glitter of the man's eyes. 

"Well?" he said. He wasn't shouting, but she could hear him clearly, despite the music and the shouted conversations going on around him. 

Before she could answer, a vibration at her waist broke the spell. She pulled the pager from her belt and checked the tiny LCD screen. "Home. Now. D." 

"Shit. I'll have to take a rain check on that drink," she yelled to the man, more than a little disappointed. He was definitely the most interesting thing she'd run across in a while. 

He nodded. "No problem. I'll see you later." 

She started to ask his name, but he vanished into the crowd before she could form the question. Strange, though, how he could sound so confident of seeing her again considering she'd never seen _him_ before. 

Still, she didn't have time to wonder about tall, dark and mysterious. Shaking off the encounter, she headed for the door. Whatever had made the Director call her in on a night off, it had to be big. 

* * *

Vic shifted his weight, then checked the front of the suburban home he was watching, for the umpteenth time, before turning his attention back to the book he'd been reading. It had been a long night—the third one in a row for him—and he'd read half of the fat novel since arriving. 

He'd hated stakeouts as a cop and he still hated them. The worst thing about stakeouts was the boredom, since very little ever happened on them. This one seemed especially pointless. They knew that the creep had left the country, but for some reason, the Director was convinced that he was going to be back. Personally, Vic thought he'd have to be pretty damn stupid to come home after ripping off the Council _and_ the Agency. Again. 

On the other hand, Dr. Fry had never been the most intelligent of guys. Smart as hell and stupid at the same time. Still, you'd think he would have learned his lesson after Desmond Happy and Area 52, not to mention what happened to his girlfriend. 

Vic shifted again and groaned. All of the pros that came with being Kindred, but one thing hadn't changed: Vampire or not, he still got numb-butt from sitting in a car all night. 

But even that would have been okay if he had Mac to keep him company instead of Anne Rice's laughable excuse for vampires and a cooler with a couple packs of blood to replace the old thermos of coffee. Unfortunately the Director had figured—probably rightly—that if she put the two of them together in a car for long periods of time there wouldn't have been much watching going on. 

So, with LiAnn still in China and Jackie off doing her own thing, he'd been given a choice between Dobrinsky and Nathan. After about two seconds' thought, he'd decided to go for that door number three that the Director like to go on about and do the stakeout solo. However, he was beginning to wonder if even Nathan the paranoid ghoul would have been a better choice. 

He finished the chapter and tossed the paperback into the backseat in disgust. He still wasn't sure how he'd let Mac talk him into trying to read that piece of pulp, especially since he was now living it, so to speak. Tomorrow night, assuming that this useless stakeout was still on, he was bringing something easier to digest. A Louis L'Amour, perhaps. Now there was a guy who could write. 

Vic leaned forward to turn up the radio as the hourly news came on. He didn't get to participate much in the daytime world anymore, but he still liked to keep up to date. 

Then he paused as a figure came down the street, heading for the house. A very recognizable figure. "I don't believe it. I don't _fucking_ believe it," Vic muttered to himself. He checked his gun, then got out of the car. 

The plump little man was making a big production of looking in all directions as he sneaked towards the house, but still managed to completely miss seeing Vic until the agent was practically on top of him. 

"Hello, Dr. Fry," Vic said, reaching out to grab the man's arm. Fry nearly jumped out of his skin. 

"Ack! Mansfield! Don't _do_ that." 

Vic just snorted and started tugging him towards the car. 

"Where are we going? I've got things to do, you know. _Important_ things." 

"Sure you do," Vic said, holstering his gun so that he could pull out his handcuffs without letting go of the little weasel. Fry was too out of shape to get far before Vic caught him again, but he really didn't want to have to go to that effort. 

He handcuffed the renegade scientist quickly, then opened the door of the car and tossed him face down in the back seat. 

"Hey! You don't have to be so rough," the man protested. 

"Yes, I do," Vic replied, shoving him in a little further so that he could close and lock the door. He headed around to the driver's side and slip in behind the wheel. 

He had just started the engine when his cellphone beeped him. He picked it up with a grimace. "Mansfield," he said. "What? Well he just showed up, so I'm on my way in already. Tell her I'll be there in twenty minutes. Fine, fifteen. Yeah, right. Bye." 

He disconnected and tossed the cell into the passenger seat with a groan. 

"Listen, this isn't a good time for you either. I can tell. So how about you just leave me here and we'll do this some other time, okay?" 

"Shut up, Fry," Vic said, putting the car into gear. He still missed his beloved pickup truck, but he had to admit that the sedan had some benefits, the back seat being a big one. Mac had gleefully reintroduced him to the joys of making out in a back seat, and now it gave him someplace to stick Fry where he didn't have to actually look at the pudgy little weasel. 

"Oooooh, Anne Rice. Isn't she a fantastic writer? Have you read#151;" 

"Shut _up_ ," Vic snapped, taking a corner a little faster than he should have. There was a loud thump in the back as Fry went rolling and he couldn't help smirking. It had been a long night and it looked like it was going to get even longer. He had to grab what little entertainment he could when he could. 

* * *

Mac glanced down at the address written on the slip of paper, then looked back up at the building that matched that address. The house was a tiny, semi-detached home, probably from early in the century. From the outside it looked nothing like what he'd expected. It looked... normal. 

For a moment, he was tempted to just turn around and head home. Or maybe join Vic on his stakeout and see if he could distract the older man. Then he shoved his nervousness aside, squared his shoulders and marched up the short walk to the front door. It had taken more than a month to get this point and he wasn't going to chicken out now. 

He almost hesitated again at the door, but quickly knocked before he could stop to think about it. A moment later, the door cracked open, the chain keeping it from opening too far. 

"Hi," he said awkwardly, unable to see who was on the other side of the door. "I was told to ask for... Sofia?" He winced. He sounded like a complete idiot. 

"Mac Ramsey?" The voice was female and firm. 

"Um... yeah?" 

The door shut in his face. Before he could react, he heard the chain slide out of the way. Then the door opened again. "Come in." 

Mac moved cautiously into the dark, narrow hallway, then turned as the door shut behind him. The woman turned around and he blinked in surprise again. Like the house, the woman wasn't exactly what he'd expected from a gypsy. She was dressed in pressed linen slacks with a dark green blouse made of silk which set off her olive skin-tones. Her hair was cut very short, making a dark cap. She wore no jewelry and what little make-up she had on was very tastefully applied. She also couldn't be much older than himself. 

"Follow me," she said, passing him close enough for him to smell her very subtle perfume. She led him to the door at the end of the hallway which turned out to open into the kitchen. In contrast to the dark space he'd come through, the kitchen was light and airy, even though it was dark outside. The walls were painted a cheery yellow and the wood cabinets were covered with a light, pickled finish. The linoleum floor looked new. The back door was open, letting in the chirping of night insects. 

"Would you like some tea?" the young woman asked, already putting the kettle on to boil. There was only a faint hint of an accent in her voice. Too faint to be identified. 

"Um... thanks," Mac said, feeling a little off-balance. He glanced around, then sat when she waved him to the table. "I was supposed to see#151;" 

"Sofia. And here I am." 

Mac blinked. "Oh. Sorry." 

"Quite alright. Let me guess. You were expecting someone at least ninety, dressed in colorful patchwork skirts with large gold hoop earrings. Am I right?" 

The really embarrassing thing was she was right. "Sorry," he said with a sheepish grin. 

"Don't sweat it. I get that a lot." 

The kettle on the stove started to whistle, and she poured the boiling water into a teapot after throwing in a handful of loose tea leaves. She set a couple of mugs and a pitcher of cream on the table. "The tea just needs to steep for a bit," she said, carrying the pot over. "Now, what seems to be your problem?" 

Mac hesitated. "What makes you think I have a problem?" he hedged. 

She smirked. "It's what usually brings people to me. If you just wanted a tarot reading or a love spell, you could have found that in a dozen different shops in town. To be passed on to me, your problem must be bigger. So come on. Tell Sofia all about it." 

While she waited, she poured the tea into the mugs and pushed one in front of Mac. She added a dollop of honey and a touch of cream to her own and sipped at it carefully. 

Mac wrapped his hands around his own mug and lifted it to take a long sniff. It smelled wonderful, but he knew from experience that if he were to drink it, it would taste like nothing more than hot water. One of the trade-offs of becoming Kindred was enhanced sense of smell for a weakened sense of taste except for blood it seemed. Now he knew why Vic still liked to cook, even though he didn't eat. 

Finally, he decided to go with the easier question. "I recently had a run-in with someone who claimed I was Gypsy. I'm looking to find some sort of confirmation." 

"Do you have any information I can go with?" 

Mac pulled the printout from his pocket. He'd combined his meager childhood memories with what he'd been able to coax out of the Agency computers and the result had been a single page with a depressingly small amount of information. 

Sofia scanned the print, then put the page aside. "You do realize that we don't exactly keep records," she said. He nodded, knowing that probably this would be a dead end, like his other attempts over the years to learn more about his family, either on his mother's side or his father's. One died when he was young, and the other... Well, you couldn't exactly trust anything his dad said. 

"Still," she added, "I'll put out the word and see if anyone knows anything. I'll let you know if anything comes of it," she said, tapping the bottom of the page where he'd added his personal cellphone number. 

"So, now that we've dealt with that, is there anything else you wanted?" 

Mac licked his lips, but stayed silent. He was trying to figure out how to say anything without sounding like a lunatic. 

Sofia looked amused. "What, no more questions? I would have thought you'd want to ask about the Ravnos or the Draba hanging around your neck." 

Mac gaped at her, his hand coming up to touch his pendant. "Draba?" he asked in confusion. Yes, he wanted to know about the Ravnos, but what the hell was a Draba? 

"The pendant. Has anything strange happened while you're wearing it?" 

He shook his head. "Some weird dreams, maybe," he said slowly, although he wasn't sure why that had popped out. 

"Hmm... I might have expected more. Who gave it to you?" 

Mac smiled. He was probably blushing. "My... lover," he said. 

"Is she Gypsy?" 

He laughed. "No, Vic is definitely not Gypsy. He found it in a shop in San Francisco and bought it for me." 

The woman actually looked floored by that, but he didn't think it was because he'd named a man as his lover. She reached across the table and gently touched the pendant, closing her eyes. A moment later, she opened them again. "Impressive," she said. "It's nearly drained, which is why it can only work through dreams, but for it to have retained potency this long, especially if it ended up in a _shop_ , its maker must have been pretty powerful." 

"What _is_ it?" Mac asked, a little peeved at the obscure pronouncements. 

"A draba. Um... think of it as a magic object. A tool someone has made." 

"What does it do?" 

"That depends on what its maker _wanted_ it to do. And before you ask, I can't tell what this one was. You'll just have to figure that out for yourself." Mac really hated it when people pulled this sort of cryptic crap on him, but before he could say anything, demand better answers, his pager went off. 

Cursing softly, he pulled out the techie toy and checked the tiny screen. The message was short and to the point: Get your ass to the Agency. Now. 

"I've got to go," he said with a sigh, getting to his feet. The mug of cooling tea was left on the table, still un-sipped. 

He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that they hadn't made it to the subject of the Ravnos clan before the interruption. He still didn't know just how she knew about them and how much she knew about the Kindred in general. 

Sofia escorted him to the door and opened it for him. "Come by any time, if you want to talk," she said. "About anything. And I'll let you know if I find out anything about your family." 

"Thanks. I guess I'll see you," he said. Still a little dazed by the conversation and the unanswered questions it had left, he barely heard her reply as he headed for his car to answer the Director's summons. 

"Oh, you certainly will." 

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Vic pulled to a stop in front of the Toronto headquarters of the Agency, just barely within the fifteen minute deadline he'd been given, then got out and opened the back door and hauled Fry out, then picked him up off the pavement when the man stumbled. 

Other than the brief periods of silence after he deliberately cornered the car to throw the idiot around, Fry hadn't shut up the entire drive. Vic had gotten an earful about the man's taste for horror novels, fine dining, his new girlfriend—who sounded about as intelligent as the last one—and his latest incomprehensible research. Vic was about ready to shoot the man just to get him to stay quiet. He was certainly planning on investing on a really good gag for the glove compartment. Surely the Director would be able to tell him what kind would be best to buy. 

Once the man was back on his feet, he shoved him in the direction of the door leading into the hillside, not bothering to take the cuffs off the man. There was nothing about the place that said "Headquarters of a Shadowy Government Agency." In fact, if you checked a city map you would find it listed as one of the water reservoirs that served the population. 

Hell, for all he knew it _had_ been a reservoir originally. All he really knew was that the place was huge. The Director had once sent LiAnn to the thirteenth floor to get some sort of report. Actually, they didn't have floors. The whole place was below ground, so sub-level might be a better term. And just because she was sent to the thirteenth floor didn't even necessarily mean that there _were_ that many. 

LiAnn had described the whole thing as a bureaucratic hell that seemed more like something out of a fever dream than real life. She'd spent hours in lineups, only to be told that she was in the wrong line. She spent days running from floor to floor, lineup to lineup until she'd finally pulled a gun and threatened extreme violence if they didn't giver her the information she was after, right there, right then. 

The whole story seemed so implausible that Vic figured that it had all been staged for her benefit. LiAnn had a tendency to be a little too rule-bound. Vic wouldn't be surprised if the whole point of the exercise—which had been a punishment to begin with—had been designed to get her to move _outside_ the rules. 

Of course, he did wish that the Director had chosen a time when his, Mac's and Jackie's lived hadn't depended on that information. Still, he was surprised that LiAnn hadn't been able to figure it out for herself. 

Fry stumbled and Vic grabbed him by the collar to keep him on his feet. The man squawked, but a gun barrel jammed behind one ear convinced him to keep his mouth shut for once. 

"Ooooh, Bondage and s/m. Very kinky, Vic. I'll have to remember that." 

Vic blinked in surprise at finding Mac waiting for him just inside the doors. "I thought you had the night off," he said. Mac had been very secretive about his plans, so Vic hadn't expected to see him before morning. 

"So did I," Mac replied with a shrug. "Then I got beeped." 

"Any idea what's going on?" 

"Not a clue." 

"Well, you'll _get_ a clue if you get your butts into the conference room," Dobrinsky said, appearing from one of the side corridors that were almost invisible if you weren't looking straight at them. Vic jumped, not having heard the man coming. 

"Jesus! Make a little noise, would you," Mac said, equally startled. 

"Aw, what's the matter, Sport? Scare ya?" The black man didn't seem at all worried at the idea. 

"Not in this lifetime," Mac blustered, even though they all knew that he was lying. Actually, Dobrinsky was pretty easy to get along with, as long as you stayed on his good side. Unfortunately, Mac had gotten on his _bad_ side the day they'd met and that hadn't changed in the years since. 

"If you say so," Dobrinsky said with a feral grin that showed too many teeth, making both Mac and Vic gulp. Discretely, of course. "In the meantime, I'll take the good doctor off your hands and put him in... storage. I suggest that the two of you get to the briefing before the boss gets peeved. You _know_ how much she dislikes tardiness." 

Vic didn't have to be told twice. He pushed Fry in Dobrinsky's direction, then grabbed Mac's elbow and hustled him down the hall. He ignored the thump and outraged squawk behind them as Dobrinsky did nothing to keep the man on his feet. Vic wasn't the only one who disliked the creep. In fact, other than the man's ex-wife, former girlfriend and supposed current girlfriend, Vic didn't know of anyone who _did_ like the man. And since the wife was in a nuthouse, the first girlfriend was dead and the new one was just hearsay... 

Of course, it was hard to like someone whose field of research was screwing with peoples' minds, both through drugs and mechanical means. 

Vic breathed a small sigh of relief on finding the briefing room empty except for the petite blonde already sitting at the table. From the way Jackie was dressed—flamboyant, tight and with even more skin showing than usual—he had the feeling that she'd been pulled in from her night off too. That was not a good sign. 

"Hi guys," Jackie said brightly as they came in. "Wow, must be big if she's calling in all of the big guns. Any ideas yet?" 

"Nope," Mac said. Vic just shrugged. There was no point in speculating before they had anything to speculate about. 

They took their seats and immediately, as if on cue, the Director came down the stairs from what they assumed was her private office. In fact, she had probably been waited up there for just the right moment to make her entrance. The Director was definitely the theatrical type. 

"Good morning, children," she said, sitting down at the head of the table and picking up a handheld control. She set down a pile of depressingly thick file folders. Vic to resist the urge to reply with 'Good morning, Miss,' as if he was back in grade school. 

She pressed a button and the large screen on the wall came to life with the picture of a young woman in her twenties. "Corinne Hamilton." Click. "Marco Escobar." Click. "Sara Green." Click. "Jack Murphy." Click. "Mandy Li." Click. The screen changed to show all five faces, side by side. 

Vic considered the faces. They showed a variety of ethnic backgrounds and personality types. Mandy was a Goth girl in every way, from her black dyed hair to her black lace gloves. Black makeup and black nail polish. In fact, she looked a lot like LiAnn had during the Melnick case. Marco looked like your typical young bravo. Jack was a fresh-faced kid whose freckles said he should have had red hair, only it was dyed a riot of colors, as if he couldn't make up his mind. Sara and Corinne looked like any university students from the U of T. The only obvious thing they had in common was that they were all in their early-to mid-twenties. 

"I assume they're all dead," Vic said a little sourly. He hated murder investigations. 

"You assume correctly." 

"This isn't like that thing with the Russians, is it?" Mac asked suspiciously. Vic shuddered, remembering being forced to work with Nikki, the daughter of one of the Director's old friends. 

"No, they are not washing up on foreign shores," the Director said in a slightly tired tone. "And there is no doubt that they are who their IDs say they are." 

"So why are we interested in them?" 

"Because it appears that we have a serial killer in town. All five have been killed in nearly identical ways over the last month." 

"The cops#151;" 

"Have no leads at this time," she cut him off. 

"So why are we interested in a current police investigation?" The Agency usually stuck to cases that they police either did not know about or did not have to resources to deal with. 

"Because I said so." She glared at him, then relented slightly. "Because of _how_ they died." 

She clicked the control again and the image of the five young, smiling—except for Goth girl—faces was replaced by a crime scene photo. An alley, starkly lit by floodlights. The body was sprawled on the grimy pavement next to an overflowing dumpster. Several used condoms and a needle could be seen clearly. 

The body was male, so it was either Escobar or Murphy. The dark hair suggested Escobar as the victim. His leather pants were down around his knees and his silver mesh shirt was bunched up at his armpits. A kid out for a wild night, capped by some semi-public sex. 

Of course, if that was what he'd been looking for, he'd made a big mistake in his choice of partners. His throat had been torn out, right down to the bone, and that was just the beginning. His chest had been ripped open and his ribs gleamed almost while where they emerged at unnatural angles from the flesh. From the photo, Vic couldn't tell if any of the organs were missing except for the obvious one. 

"Oh my god," Mac said with a gulp next to him, squeezing his knees together. Vic was having pretty much the same reaction. Where the kid's cock and balls had once been, all that remained was a mess of torn flesh. Vic just prayed that the kid had already been dead by the time that had been done. 

"The photos from the other crime scenes are pretty much the same," the Director said coolly, mercifully turning the projector off. "The police are doing their best to keep the more... sensational details out of the papers, but it's just a matter of time before there's a leak." 

"I'm surprised that there hasn't been one already," Vic said, remembering his cop days. There were few things that a cop liked to do better than gossip, and while they would not deliberately leak information, they didn't always check to see who might be listening. And that didn't even take into consideration the witnesses. 

The Director smiled. "Let's just say we've... plugged a few leaks." Based on her expression, Vic didn't want to ask how. 

She slid three thick file folders towards them. "Here's what the police have come up with so far. I want the three of you to start examining the angles that they haven't considered." 

"So you think the killer isn't, like... normal," Jackie said, flipping her folder open and shuffling through the pages inside. She stopped on one and frowned. 

The Director raised one eyebrow. "Human killers don't usually use their bare hands, and they don't take the heart and liver with them." 

"Unless they're Dahlmer," Mac muttered to himself. The Director just looked at him. "You mean... Never mind, I don't want to know." He was looking a little green. 

The corner of the Director's mouth quirked up, making Vic wonder just how serious she was about that implication. She had a sense of humor, but it was a weird one, often showing up at the strangest moments. He didn't say anything though, since he wasn't sure he wanted to know whether or not the sicko had been Kindred any more than Mac did. Instead, he turned his attention to the files. Front and center were the crime scene photos and autopsy reports. He swallowed hard, feeling a little green himself. They didn't paint a pretty picture. 

The scrape of the Director's chair as she stood up was unexpected and echoingly loud in the large room. "Dawn is coming," she said. "Take the files home and review them. I expect you to get working as soon as the sun goes down. File a report by this time tomorrow. I want this stopped quickly, by any means necessarily, _before_ the papers start screaming "Cannibal Killer" on their front pages. Is that understood?" 

Mac and Vic chorused their agreement, but Jackie was strangely silent. All three got to their feet and headed for the door. Vic stretched as he walked, feeling the vertebrae in his spine pop. Three nights in a car on stakeout did bad things to his back. He wanted a hot shower, something to eat and a good night's—or day's in his case—sleep before he started to plan. 

* * *

The walk to the main entrance was a little disturbing. Mac was silent—unusual for him, but not unheard of. But Jackie hadn't said a word since opening her folder. Vic couldn't remember the blonde _ever_ being this quiet. 

She stopped when they reached the door, tapping her foot in what looked like a nervous tic. "Guys, I'm going to hit the clubs tonight. All our vics were taken while clubbing and dumped nearby, so maybe someone saw them with the killer." 

"The police will have done that," Vic pointed out. 

Jackie gave him a 'duh' expression. "You think that they're going to tell the police anything?" 

Vic shrugged. "Good point," he said, then fixed her with his best imitation of the Director's glare. "But that's all you do. No setting yourself up as bait, got it?" 

"We might need to do that." 

"Maybe, but not yet. And certainly not without wires, tracers and backup." 

Jackie looked like she was going to argue, then nodded, turned and left. Vic watched her go, wondering what the hell was up with her. There was definitely something off about Jackie's behavior. For a moment he wanted to go after her and demand an explanation, but he knew from long experience that it wouldn't do him any good. She was getting more and more like Director every day. 

Finally, he turned back to Mac. "Come on, we better get going." 

They both had their cars with them, so Vic nodded to his lover as they separated, heading for their individual vehicles. He did steal a kiss first, though. Nothing too intense. Just a promise for later. 

* * *

Jackie tossed her folder on the coffee table and headed for her bedroom without looking back. She stripped off her clothes and tossed them in the hamper. They smelled of stale smoke and human sweat. They certainly needed to be dry-cleaned before she'd be willing to wear them again. 

Naked now, she headed for the all-white bathroom. The same smells were also stuck in her hair and, it seemed to her, her skin. There was no way that she was going to be able to be able to sleep, dawn or not, until she washed the stink out. 

She would have liked to have had a long soak in a bubble bath before bed, but she didn't really have the time for that. Instead, she set the shower for pulsating spray and as hot as she could stand. She stepped in and reached for the shampoo first. A light, flowery scent replaced the smoky smell in her hair. Her favorite body wash did the same for her body as the stress she'd felt since opening the file folder started to drain away. 

It wasn't the brutality of the crime, she thought to her self as she pulled on a dark red terrycloth robe and headed back into the living room, toweling her hair dry. No, it _was_ worse than anything she'd seen since her recruitment by the Agency and the Embrace that had come soon after, but she was a big girl. She could handle it. 

No, it wasn't the crime that had caught her off-guard, gruesome as it was. It was the victims. Or more to the point, one of the victims. She flipped the folder open again and pulled out the picture. 

Jack Murphy. Young and eager in the picture that the boss had shown them. Anything but in this one. The autopsy photo showed every detail of what he'd ended up like in full color, brightly lit by fluorescent lights. Every detain including his hairdo. 

"A wicked new do. Purple with silver tips." That was what the guy she'd been talking to tonight had said. "Jack... something or other." 

Jack Murphy. He was the boy who'd been seen with LiAnn Tsei. LiAnn, who wasn't supposed to even be in the country. LiAnn, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. 

What the hell did it mean? 

* * *

Vic actually managed to get home before Mac did, which was amazing considering the way that the younger man drove. Sometimes it seemed like Mac thought he was on the Grand Prix circuit or something. 

He considered taking a shower, then decided that there wasn't really time for that. He had a lot of reading to do, a lot of planning. Shower could wait until evening. Instead, he stuck a mug of blood into the microwave to warm up, then started spreading the material they'd been given out on the dining table. He also grabbed a map of downtown Toronto from the bookcase next to the stereo and opened it too. 

The victims had each been traced to a different nightclub, but they were all clustered together in the downtown core. There'd been no deaths in the areas surrounding Toronto. That meant that the killer had a preferred hunting ground, which made him predictable. 

However, the cops were smart enough to have picked up on that too. The police presence in the area had increased dramatically, but that hadn't done any good. Two more kids had been killed since then with no one the wiser until the bodies had been stumbled across in alleys in the same area. Even the usual homeless squatters and horny kids who normally haunted those alleys claimed that they hadn't seen or heard a thing. 

Vic was beginning to agree with the Director. Between that and the autopsy reports, no way the killer was human. Unfortunately, that still left a lot of possibilities. Sometimes he wished that he could go back in time. The world had been so much simpler before San Francisco. Vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters and all the other things that went bump in the night had only existed in movies and horror novels for him back then. 

On the other hand, not knowing about them didn't make them any less real. Hiding your head in the sand didn't work, no matter what the ostriches might think. As well, knowing the full truth could mean the difference between life and death. _True_ death. 

No, he was better off knowing. 

The sound of the elevator down the hall from the apartment he shared with Mac brought him out of his reverie and he was surprised to realize that it had been nearly half an hour since he'd gotten home, and here was Mac, just arriving. 

"Get lost?" he quipped as the young man carefully hung up his jacket, trying to cover his worry. He turned his chair so that he was facing Mac. 

"Hmm?" Mac said, looking a little distracted. "Nah, just needed to think. I do that better while driving." 

It might have been Vic's imagination, but Mac looked a little guilty. "If you say so," he said with a snort, trying to lighten the mood. "Might explain a few things." 

"Hey! And what is that supposed to mean?" Mac shot back, the familiar bantering tone back in his voice. 

"Oh, nothing." He waited for Mac to glare at him. "Just remembering a few stakeouts where you decided to jump the perps because you were bored." 

"I only did that once!" Vic just looked at him. "Okay, a couple of times. I got bored." 

Vic snorted. "Just as long as you don't get bored with me," he said, then immediately wished that he could take the words back. 

Mac's brow scrunched up for a moment, then he smiled. He moved over to where Vic was sitting and slowly, deliberately straddled his lap and sat down. Vic wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist and opened up eagerly to the kiss planted on his lips. 

Mac plundered his mouth for several minutes, getting a lot of use out of the fact that vampires didn't really need to breathe, then pulled back. "Trust me," he said hoarsely, his eyes dilated with desire. "I don't think I'm _ever_ going to get bored of you." 

Then he jumped off with a saucy grin. "Besides, with our jobs, who's got time to be bored?" 

"Stakeouts." 

"Okay, except on stakeouts. And now I've got you to keep me from being bored on them." 

Vic laughed softly. "Tease." 

"And you love it," Mac shot back, heading for the kitchen. 

Vic turned back to the files, but his concentration had been broken. Checking his watch showed that it was nearly dawn anyway. Time for bed. In the kitchen, he could hear the ping of the microwave. 

"So," he said casually, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" He stretched a bit and stifled a yawn. 

Mac emerged from the kitchen, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Well, it was informative," he said. 

"Oh? How so?" 

Mac shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Vic found the evasion more than a little disturbing. He gave the files one last look, then headed for the bedroom. He stripped down to his skin, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, all the while wondering what it meant. 

They went through their usual pre-bed ritual in a silence that felt a little off. Even though he tried not to, Vic felt a little worried and a little hurt that Mac didn't seem to want him to know what he'd been doing that night. 

But once they were in bed, Mac cuddled close like he always did. Vic pushed aside the sting of doubts and let himself enjoy the feeling of being so completely entwined with another person. 

Mac snuggled a little closer until his nose was practically in Vic's ear. "I'll tell you about it tonight," he barely whispered, then looked up at the light fixture above the bed in a very deliberate way. 

Vic breathed a small sigh of relief at that. It wasn't that Mac didn't want to tell him about it, he just didn't want to tell the _Director_ about it, and saying anything in an Agency apartment was doing just that. 

Of course, there was still the question about what "it" was, which was a worry in itself. 

Still, he felt a lot better as the sun came up and he fell asleep. 

* * *

**Chapter Three**

As soon as the sun was down, they were up and on their way. Mac would have liked to laze around in bed for an hour or two, maybe indulge in a marathon bout of mind-blowing sex, but he knew better. Although she'd appeared calm and cool that morning, the Director obviously wanted this killer stopped and fast. Hell, after seeing the photos, so did Mac. 

Anyway, under the circumstances, putting on a show for the inevitable surveillance cameras would just piss her off. He'd only seen her pissed off a couple of times before, and on one of those occasions she'd actually _shot_ at him. He didn't want repeat. 

So they'd showered together instead. He'd sucked Vic off, enjoying the flavor of the man the way he enjoyed nothing else—except, maybe, the taste of blood—these days. Then Vic had jerked him off while whispering dirty tales of what he was going to do to Mac when they had the time to do things right. In fact, it was the voice more than the hands that had gotten him off. Then they'd dressed, downed some 'breakfast' and headed out the door. 

"So," Mac said as they climbed into Vic's car. "Got any ideas on how we should go on this?" 

Vic tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, an indication of deep though in the man. The voice of a CBC news reporter was droning on from the radio in the background. "First we need a cover," he said. "The cops are going to be all over this one and if they see us popping up, they're going to get suspicious." 

"And no chance that they'll miss seeing you, ex-cop and all," Mac pointed out. 

"Exactly," Vic said. Mac noticed that the man's voice hid none of the bitterness it would have just a year ago. In the aftermath of the police scandal the year before when a dealer who got religion decided to expose his dealings with the Narcotics squad, proof had been found that the squad leader, Joe McDowell, had framed Vic because he thought the man was going to expose them. Vic's conviction had been quietly overturned, clearing his name. 

Vic had accepted the very non-public apology—a public one would have just stirred up the press again—then had gone back to work even though the Director's hold over him was gone. When Mac had broached the subject Vic had shrugged and said that he didn't really have anything else to do. 

"So, an ex-cop and an ex-thief working together, showing up at scenes related to a series of murders. What possible reason could we have?" Mac mused. Then he grinned. "Private eyes!" he crowed. 

"Hired by one of the families unsatisfied with the progress of the police investigation." Vic chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Corinne Hamilton's father is CEO of a corporation that does a lot of business with the Agency." 

"Right," Mac said and pulled out his cell-phone. Unfortunately, Dobrinsky answered at the other end instead of the Director, but he said that he would see to it that James Hamilton backed up their cover and that the paperwork proving that they were licensed investigators would be taken care of. 

Hell, knowing the Agency the paperwork was probably already in place, dated years earlier. Still, it meant that all they had to do was drop by the Agency at some point to pick up the necessary IDs. 

Mac was nearly rubbing his hands with glee at the thought. Growing up, he'd loved the hard-boiled detective novels and movies. He had always wanted to be Sam Spade, cool and debonair, a gorgeous blonde on his arm. Okay, the blonde was out, but he did have Vic. 

"Okay, so now we have our cover. Where do we start?" They all had their strengths and Vic's was the investigative side. Mac didn't mind admitting that, since his niche was the break and enter while LiAnn usually handled the undercover work. Jackie's role on the team hadn't been nailed down yet, but while he still wasn't too crazy about the blonde, he had to admit that her knowledge of the North American crime world beat his own, although he could outdo her when it came to Asia and Europe. 

"Well, since Hamilton's going to play ball, let's start at his daughter's apartment. The deaths were each a week apart, so maybe the killer 'courts' his victims first." 

"The cops didn't find anything," Mac pointed out. 

"Yeah, but she was first, so they probably wouldn't have been quite as thorough as at the later sites." 

"You hope." 

"You got a better idea?" 

Mac shook his head, holding up his hands in surrender. "You're the boss," he said. 

Vic just grinned. 

* * *

They decided to go straight to the apartment instead of detouring out of their way to the Agency to pick up those IDs and the apartment key. Instead, Mac pulled out his lockpick set and exercised the skills that _he_ brought to the team. It wasn't much of a challenge, so it only took him a couple of seconds to pop the lock. 

Even though Corinne had been dead for about a month now, her apartment looked as if she'd just left it. Assuming, of course, that you ignored a few smears of fingerprint powder here and there. Other than that, it looked as if it had just been cleaned. Someone had been here after the police gone through. Vic assumed that Daddy Hamilton had arranged that. 

Vic started by doing a walk-through the apartment, trying to get a feel for it and its former owner. Mac watch from the entryway with a slightly bemused expression, but Vic ignored him for the moment. This was the sort of thing he'd been working his way up to when his brothers in blue had decided to frame him. Patrol, Vice, Narcotics. After that it would have been Robbery, probably, then either Homicide or Major Crimes, the last being the place he wanted to be. 

Well, he certainly dealt with major crimes now, just from outside official channels. 

The expensive computer on the corner desk was his first stop. It had a modem, so he dialed up the Agency server and started transferring everything on the machine. Computer experts would check the files and filter out anything not related to the case. 

Next, the bedroom. Corinne had a taste for expensive toiletries and clothing that looked like they came from a thrift store, it seemed. She also had an interesting selection of sex toys in her bedside table, he noted. Either she didn't bring anyone home or her partners had... interesting tastes. 

The bathroom was pretty much the same, so he moved to join Mac who was going through the living room. "Find anything interesting?" he asked. 

"A lot of junk mail and art supplies," Mac said. He held up a watercolor nightscape that matched the view from the balcony. "Not bad, but I hope she wasn't planning on a career as an artist," he said critically. 

Vic shook his head. "Advertising," he said, not bothering to point out that the information had been in the folders they were given. "She was supposed to graduate next year." 

Mac shrugged. "She had a good eye, at least." He put the painting down and moved to the kitchen while Vic sorted through the mail that had already been opened, then piled on the coffee table. Bills, bills and more bills, as well as the junk mail Mac had referred to, but nothing personal. 

"So, last night..." he called out casually. 

"Hmm? Oh right, that." Mac reappeared in the doorway. "There isn't really much to tell. Ever since that incident with _her_ ," he didn't need to say who, "I've been trying to learn more about Gypsies. _She_ implied that my mother was one, and that the Ravnos were too, and since the Director hasn't exactly been forthcoming, especially about just what a Ravnos is, I figured I better find out on my own. And my mother... Anyway, that's what I've been doing in my spare time and last night it seemed like I'd hit paydirt, but I got beeped before I could learn much. Still, it's a start and I plan to go back." 

Vic blinked, a little surprised. He hadn't realized that Mac was even interested in that sort of thing. He knew the basics about the Gangrel himself, mainly about the specialized abilities and weaknesses of the clan, but he had no interest in learning more. Considering what he'd seen of Moira and her "people," not learning more seemed like a good idea. 

"Okay, finding more about the Ravnos makes sense," he said slowly. "After all, who knows what pitfalls there might be." Like the narrow pupils that he now saw whenever he looked in the mirror. They'd been like that ever since his fight with Katya; the 'she' that Mac refused to name. It was a weird look that strangely didn't bother him and which Mac just thought were sexy. "But your mother?" All Vic knew about the woman was that she was dead. 

Mac looked down at his feet and scuffed at the carpet with one of them. "How much do you know about your parents?" 

"Too much," Vic said with a snort. A controlling father and a distant mother, he hadn't seen them since he'd left home to join the Police Academy and he liked it that way. 

"Yeah, well I can't exactly say the same." Mac sighed softly, then grinned wryly. "Okay, maybe about my dad, but hey, I've only seen him a handful of times in the last decade, usually when he wanted help with some con, but my mom, she died when I was still a kid. I don't really remember much about her. I want to know something about her. Maybe that will make her feel, I dunno, closer?" 

Vic moved to stand in front of Mac, pulled by the sadness in the young man's voice. He wiped away one pink-tinged tear from Mac's cheek. "You've never mentioned this before." 

"Usually I try not to think about it," Mac said with a small, bitter laugh. "After all, she's dead and I don't even know where she's buried." 

Vic kissed him softly, responding to the pain in his voice. "If you need any help, let me know," he said. 

"I will," Mac said, then turned back to his search, his cocky mask back in place, and Vic knew that he wouldn't. Despite their relationship and the bond that had grown between them over the years, Mac was still a very private person. Not to mention independent. Asking for help would be a last resort. 

He should have seen it coming, he realized. If there was one driving force behind Mac his entire life it was family, probably because of how many families he'd lost. LiAnn had pointed it out to him more than once. Mac's dad pops up with a crazy scheme and nearly sucks Mac in. Mac turning frantic when the man disappears and he thinks he's dying. Mac risking his life to reconcile with Old Man Tang. Mac's failed attempt to get married. Everything in an attempt to recover a family. 

And was it really any different from Vic's need to feel part of a team? He'd risked death and worse himself for that. 

Vic returned to his own search, determined that he would support Mac in this, even if he could only do so by being there for the younger man. 

"Hey! Vic!" 

"Yeah?" Vic called back from the bookcase where he was checking titles and flipping through volumes looking for notes. Like the sex toys in the bedroom, the books indicated that Corinne's good-girl appearance was only skin deep, if that. 

"Take a look at _this_." 

Vic moved into the kitchen. Mac had found a tall, thin drawer that filled the space between the stove and main cabinet. In a lot of space-conscious homes and apartments, that space was used for holding cookie sheets and the like. Corinne, it seemed, used it for something else. 

Mac was pulling out boards, the type used by artists for pencil and pastel drawings. He felt around inside to make sure that he'd found everything, then slid the drawer shut. It had been cleverly designed so that it was nearly invisible when closed. 

They set the drawings out on the counter and kitchen table. Mac whistled softly. "She drew people better than she did landscapes," he said, and Vic had to agree. 

Of course, the subject matter was... interesting. Some people kept photos of their conquests. Corinne, it seemed, drew them. There was a baker's dozen of portraits. Very _intimate_ portraits. Each of a different person; nine men and four women. They ranged from the discrete—a young man sleeping angelically on what was recognizably Corinne's bed, the tangled sheet doing little to disguise his nudity—to the outré—another man, pierced in ways that made Vic wince, tied up so tightly that you could almost see the bruises forming, with a trickle of blood starting at the corner of his mouth and a wild grin on his face as he stared intently off the page. 

Mac was checking the dates and names on the back of each board. "This one was done three days before her death," he said. "No name, though." He turned it over and gasped. 

Vic's eyes widened too at the almost familiar features. At first glance he could have sworn that he was looking at a picture of their absent partner, the woman both he and Mac had been in love with. 

LiAnn Tsei. 

* * *

Mac stared at the portrait, fascinated in spite of himself. He reached out to touch the familiar features in front of him, then stopped himself before he could smudge the delicate pencil markings on the smooth board. The resemblance was uncanny. 

"Weird," Vic said, echoing Mac's thoughts. The skin between his eyebrows was wrinkled in a most appealing way as he started at the portrait. It made Mac want to reach over and smooth it out. 

"You don't think it _is_ her, do you?" he asked a little uncertainly. 

Vic shook his head. "You've known her longer than I have. Have you ever seen LiAnn looking like _that_?" 

"Point taken. But, it sure _looks_ like her, doesn't it?" 

The only reply was a soft grunt. It _was_ uncanny, though. Like the others, the portrait was almost photographic in quality. It was the image of a woman who could have been LiAnn's identical twin. She was sitting cross-legged on a bed, completely unconcerned by her nudity. That was the first clue that it couldn't be LiAnn, since the woman he knew was far too demure to display herself so unashamedly. 

The next clue was the large tattoo that stretched across her chest; the image of a Chinese dragon, depicted in great detail, with the head falling on one bicep, the tail curling around the other arm all the way down to her wrist and the main body covering her upper chest with the claws of two feet clutched around her nipples. It was an incredible piece of work, assuming that it hadn't been added to the picture out of the artist's fevered imagination. 

The final clue was the hungry expression in her eyes, so completely unlike LiAnn. They seemed to glow on the page, ready to devour the viewer. It wasn't just uncanny, it was disturbing. 

"I wonder who she is," Mac said softly, turning the board over to look at the back again. Every other portrait had both a name and a date on it. This one only had a date. 

"I don't know, but I plan on finding out," Vic said. "And it that doesn't look like Corinne's bedroom either, so where might be a good question too." He started piling the portraits up, organizing them in chronological order. Then he went looking for something to put them in. 

Mac stayed in the kitchen, considering the new puzzle they'd been presented with. The resemblance to their absent partner was probably pure coincidence, but deep down, he had the feeling that there was more to it than that. 

Much more. 

* * *

Life was good, as far as Khalil was concerned. He'd been living in Toronto for three months now and he was enjoying himself immensely. He'd been looking forward to this for years, dreaming of it, planning what he would do. 

His parents had wanted him to go to a school closer to home, but he'd convinced them that the University of Toronto was the best school for him. As their first-born son, how could they deny him the best? And so, his parents had reluctantly agreed. 

And it _was_ an excellent school. But the best thing about it was the fact that it was far enough from home that he could only be expected to return for the Christmas holidays and the summer. As well, his parents were unlikely to appear for an unannounced visit. He'd even convinced them to let him come for the summer term, although he would be expected to go home next summer. Getting a head start on his degree work being the reason he had given them. 

So he was finally free! Free of the demands of his family, the expectations of his community, the rules of his heritage. Free to experience all that life had to offer and which had been forbidden before. 

Experience number one had been alcohol, and he had discovered that he could live without it. Not because of religion or anything: He just didn't like it. The euphoria wasn't worth the taste of the beer before and the pain of the hangover after. No, the interdiction against alcohol he could accept. 

But that left plenty of vices to indulge in. Dancing was forbidden by his parents, so here he was at a dance club, on a school night, no less. His first trip, he'd just watched. Then he'd gone back to the tiny apartment he would be sharing once the fall term started, locked the doors and practiced what he'd seen. The next night, he had danced the night away. He loved it. 

Sex was turning out to be a little trickier. Being a nineteen year old virgin might be fine and dandy back in the old country, but as far as Khalil was concerned, it was a brand of shame. A stigma that he wanted to get rid of as quickly as possible. 

But he couldn't exactly go up to a girl and ask her to sleep with him without being slapped or worse, laughed at, so he still hadn't come up with a way of losing his shameful virginity. He could always go out and find a prostitute, but it was a distasteful thought, even without the threat of disease. 

Khalil danced his way across the floor, enjoying the way that the music's beat made his bones vibrate. He let it drive his movements while he scanned the crowd. He saw some familiar faces among the unfamiliar. A few classmates, here and there. Some others that he saw only at the clubs. Familiar faces for which he knew very few names. 

Then a new face caught his attention, making his breath catch. She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Slim and graceful as she danced. She was Chinese or something, although he couldn't really be sure. Oriental, certainly. Her perfectly curved body was tightly hugged by red leather and black silk. She was the perfect example of the bad girl he'd always been warned about. 

He started to drift towards her, completely hypnotized by the way she moved. Amazingly, she seemed to be alone, no one else paying any attention to her. How could someone so incredible be ignored completely? 

Then she turned and their eyes met. Khalil stopped dead in his tracks, stunned by the promise in those dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her lips, painted a dark red to match the leather, curved into a cool smile. She continued to dance, but she never broke eye contact. To Khalil, it seemed like she was dancing just for him. 

His cock was painfully hard in his jeans, making a bulge that would be obvious to anyone who cared to look. No one did. He might as well have been invisible to everyone except the mysterious beauty. 

Gradually, her eyes warmed until he felt as if he was going to melt. She started to move away, the crowd parting easily before her, but her eyes never left him. She quirked a finger and he followed. It was like he was on a leash, incapable of _not_ following. 

He followed her into the back corridor, past the bathrooms and the chatting men and women there, down the hall to the emergency exit and out into the night. 

* * *

**Chapter Four**

It was well past midnight by the time Vic pulled up outside the main entrance to the Agency headquarters. Anyone passing by might have wondered why someone would be visiting one of the city reservoirs at that hour of the night. They might even be suspicious enough to call the police, which would be a bad thing. However, the former reservoir was isolated enough that there was little chance of there _being_ anyone passing by. 

Inside, the place was bright and modern, in contrast to the old- fashioned exterior. The top-level was usually pretty deserted, especially at night. After years of working for the Agency and wondering why he rarely saw anyone walking around, Vic had finally figured out why. Support staff kept to the lower levels so that if some idiot decided to try to break in, there wouldn't be much to see. They even had separate entrances all over town, connected to the facility by a private mini-subway system that didn't appear on any maps. Field agents, who needed to get in and out quickly, were the only ones who actually used the ground-level entrance or the top level. 

The leather portfolio tucked under his arm, Vic headed through that level to the briefing room that the Director also used as her public office, Mac right on his heels. The room was empty, so he put the case on the table and sat down to wait. Security would let their boss know that they were there, he knew. After a minute or two of fidgeting, Mac sat down too. 

"So boys, what have you got for me?" the Director asked as she descended the steps that led to what was presumably her private office. 

Vic had to fight the urge to jump to his feet. The Director had always been intimidating, but now that she was his Prince, she was even more so. As well, even after six months, he could still taste her blood, a rich liquor rolling across his tongue. Still, the respectful gesture was almost instinct, but he refused to give in to instinct. Occasional smirks told him that she knew what he was doing and found it... amusing. 

Vic opened the portfolio and pulled out the portrait of the LiAnn look-alike. He slid it down the table towards her as she sat down. She looked down at it and actually seemed disconcerted by the image staring up at her for a moment before covering up her reaction. 

"It's dated only days before Corinne Hamilton died," Mac pointed out. 

"And it was found in her apartment?" 

"Yes. She had a collection of them tucked away. Portraits of her conquests, we assume," Vic said. 

"Interesting." She picked up the portrait for closer study. "Very interesting indeed." 

Vic waited, but there was no further comment. "I'd think it was LiAnn," he finally said, "except that LiAnn wouldn't be caught dead looking like that. So to speak," he added, remembering that technically speaking, all three persons in the room _were_ dead. 

"But?" The Director raised an eyebrow and waited with a small smile that said she knew the answer to the question and was waiting to see if he would get it correct. He hated tests. 

"But... The resemblance _is_ uncanny. How many kinds of shapeshifters are capable of this, and would any of them have reason to want to?" 

The Director nodded, so he had obviously come up with the answer she wanted. "The obvious one is the Assamite. They are Kindred, but outside of the Camarilla and Sabbat. Rather like the Gangrel in that. However, they are assassins. As well, one of the clan's skills is illusion. And of the two sides, they work most often for the Sabbat, since _they_ are more inclined towards using assassination to further their plans." 

Vic winced and carefully did not mention the Cleaners. "Guylaine again?" he suggested. Then his nose twitched. Something strange was going on. The Director seemed to be only half-involved in the conversation. As well, he'd been feeling edgy ever since they'd arrived, and it was just getting worse. Something was going on, but he wasn't sure what. 

For a moment, a flash of plain flickered across his boss's face at the mention of her older sister. For centuries they'd been on opposite sides of an ongoing battle: One Sabbat and the other Camarilla in alliance. 

"I don't think so," she said softly. "To her, I would not have suffered enough yet. She likes to give me plenty of time to mull over our encounters and my failures." 

She glanced over to Mac but didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her failure, as she saw it, had allowed Mac to be Embraced by a clan on the fringes of Kindred society. Certainly not the clan she had planned for him. Mac flinched, no doubt aware of her thoughts. 

"So why would an Assamite assassin be killing kids in Toronto?" Vic asked, making a mental note to do some more research. He obviously needed to learn more about the various clans. More than the Director was willing to say before she had to, certainly. 

The Director lifted her hands in the classic 'who knows?' gesture. "Do you have any ideas?" she asked. 

Only she wasn't looking at either Vic or Mac as she spoke. Instead, she was looking towards the stairs she'd so recently descended. 

"I don't know. It doesn't exactly fit the Assamite pattern," a half-remembered but at the same time very familiar voice said from the shadows at the top. The man started down, coming into view. 

"Cash!" Mac said delightedly, practically bouncing out of his seat in a most unMac-like way. The two men met in the middle of the room, pounding each other on the back and grinning like madmen. Vic tried to conceal his discomfort at the sight. The Director was watching him with far too sharp eyes, and he knew he hadn't been very successful. He had to fight the urge to growl at the sight of _his_ lover in another man's arms. Not a good reaction, unless he _wanted_ to scare Mac off. 

Six months as lovers, three months as roommates, and he was still worried that Mac was going get commitment-shy and head for the hills. He was pitiful. 

But then Cash looked over Mac's shoulder at him, and his hostility drained away so quickly that it might as well never have existed. 

"Vic," Cash said with a smile. He held out his hand. 

This time it was Vic who was in Cash's arms before he could even consider the idea. After a short mental struggle, Vic buried his nose in the man's neck, inhaling deeply. The scent that had been tugging at the edges of his mind earlier now surrounded him, holding him safe. It was like... coming home. 

Finally, Cash let go. Vic reluctantly let him step away, a little embarrassed at his reaction. He barely _knew_ the guy, and here he was, clinging to him like... 

Like a lover. Or a child. He wasn't sure which. 

"This is all very touching, I'm sure," the Director drawled from her seat, effectively breaking the mood. "However, we do have business to discuss. Cash is _not_ here for pleasure," she added pointedly. 

Vic returned to his seat, followed by a reluctant Mac. "What sort of business?" Vic said with a frown, ignoring the dark look Mac was giving both him and their boss. "San Francisco is a long way to come. Besides, I thought that business between Princes was only done during a conclave." 

"That isn't exactly true," the Director said as Cash dropped into a chair with the fluid grace that the older Kindred all seemed to have. Vic wondered just how old the Gangrel was. Cash didn't look a day over thirty—younger than himself—but in this case, looks could be very deceiving. 

But that wasn't important right then. With a mental shake of the head, he turned his attention back to what his boss was saying. 

"While the important business is done at the conclaves, information is constantly flowing between cities. _Especially_ when it affects more than one city." 

"So they send messengers?" Mac broke in. "Hello, this is the twenty-first century. Hasn't anyone heard of e-mail? Or how about the telephone?" 

Cash snorted softly. "Technology can be tapped," he pointed out. "But no, messengers aren't the norm. I just happened to be passing through the area, so I was tapped to deliver the information personally." 

"Passing through? Where are you going?" Mac said, echoing Vic's thoughts. 

Cash shrugged. "North," he said simply. "Preferably someplace without people. I'll know when I get there." 

"What about Julian?" 

Cash frowned slightly at Mac. "What about him?" he asked with an edge in his voice. 

"Focus, people," the Director said, breaking in again. She was starting to sound a little pissed. "You can play twenty questions to your heart's content. _Later_." 

Immediately, all tension disappeared from Cash's expression. He exchanged a quick, conspiratorial grin with Vic and Mac, then carefully sobered. "As you know," he said, businesslike enough for even the Director, "San Francisco has a very large, very old Chinatown. Not the oldest in North America, but pretty damn close. It's also the only part of the city that the Prince has no control of. In fact, if you're Kindred, you don't want to go anywhere _near_ Chinatown. Strange things happen in Chinatown." 

Vic rolled his eyes at the cryptic statement, while Mac snorted. Cash ignored both of them. "However, we do have _some_ eyes and ears there, and the word is that there are parties in China that have taken an interest in Toronto." 

"Okay, that was a whole lot of nothing," Mac said wryly. "Are we talking Triads or any of the other criminal organizations? 'Cause if you are, I hate to tell you this, but that isn't exactly news." And Mac would certainly know, having spent years as member of one of those organizations that straddled east and west, operating out of Hong Kong. 

Cash's eyes flashed silver. "This interest is non-human," he said. "And while they've been building a presence in North America, they've never moved past the west coast before. Vancouver and San Francisco has always seemed to be the limit of their interest, and they've never actively interfered with the Kindred. This is... unusual." 

"So what are we talking about?" Mac asked. "Vampires or something else?" Cash just shrugged. 

"Nobody knows for sure. The mysterious east is just that. We know that they have some sort of supernatural population, but we don't know what kind. All we know is that any Kindred who tries to enter Asia ends up dead. Whatever they are, they don't seem to like us much." 

Mac snorted softly. "I never noticed anything supernatural when I lived on the streets in Hong Kong," he said. 

"And how long did it take you to notice it here, hmmm?" the Director asked. Mac winced. 

"Point taken," he said wryly. 

"Actually, there are a few theories about that," she said, taking pity on him. "For some reason, normal humans seem to be almost incapable of noticing anything related to us. Those that do usually end up dead or institutionalized or Embraced. Call it... protective coloration." Vic noted that she didn't mention the hunters that Moira had warned him about. 

Then she sat up a little straighter, the lecturing teacher giving way to the Prince and Director. "However, while that is something to keep in mind, don't let it make you careless." 

"So," Vic broke in, returning to the original topic. "Do you have any idea what _sort_ of interest these mysterious somethings have in our city?" 

Cash shrugged again. "That's all we know. The human servant was murdered before she could send a more detailed warning." 

Vic's eyebrows went up. "That's it? How do you know that she wasn't mistaken?" he asked dubiously. 

That got him glared at. "A police detective assigned to Narcotics and specializing in Chinatown gangs is not exactly the sort of person to make mistakes. She had more than twenty years on the force, and since she was murdered an hour after sending the initial message, I think it's more than a little suspicious. Unless, of course, you believe in coincidence." 

"How did she die?" 

Cash's expression went dark. "She was torn to pieces in the middle of a busy street in broad daylight. Strangely enough, no one saw a thing," he added sarcastically. Vic just nodded. He remembered when the 'I didn't see nothing' phenomenon. 

"Torn apart" Mac looked both disgusted and fascinated. "Any chance it's related to our case?" 

It was a good question too. After all, their victims had been killed in a pretty brutal way. 

The Director waved a hand at him. "Finding that out is _your_ job," she pointed out. Cash frowned, obviously confused by the turn, and opened him mouth to say something. She shook her head, and he stayed silent. "But even if it doesn't, I want the two of you to keep your eyes open. Whether it's the Sabbat or some other group, I don't like _anyone_ showing too much interest in _my_ territory." 

Stronger men than Vic would cringe before this woman's wrath. He just froze, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. 

Then the fire faded, and she was just the tired, overworked Director of a shadowy government agency again. 

Mac was tapping a finger on the table, though. "What about LiAnn?" 

The Director frowned. "And what does she have to do with anything right now?" 

Mac's head came up and he glared at her in a foolhardy way. "You said that Asia was off-limits to Kindred. Kindred get killed there. But you sent LiAnn to China." 

That hadn't occurred to Vic yet, and Cash looked shocked. The Director just looked... cold. "LiAnn isn't Kindred," she said in a soft, dangerous voice. 

"So what?" Mac shot back. "When _is_ LiAnn coming back?" The Director didn't reply. She just glared at him. Vic was starting to feel uncomfortable. "When is the last time you even heard from her." 

The Director stood. "That is not important right now. There is a killer in my city and I want him stopped. Outsiders are interested in my city and I want to know why. _That_ is what is important. Now _go_." 

You didn't have to tell them twice. A moment later, the three men were standing in the hallway, the door closing behind them with an ominous click. Mac slapped the wall, then winced. The bright yellow paint covered plaster over concrete. It was hard on the hand. 

"LiAnn's been looking after herself all her life," Vic said softly, trying to reassure Mac. "She'll be fine." 

"But, you heard..." 

"She isn't Kindred," Cash said. "The Kindred _do_ have a presence in Hong Kong and a couple of the other large cities. Kindred are fair game, but their servants are usually left alone." 

" _Usually_?" Mac protested. 

"Mac, trust her. I'll bet on Li Ann against just about anything." 

Mac looked like he wanted to protest, but then he slumped. "Fine, but if I haven't heard from her by the end of the month, I'm going to make a fuss." It wasn't an idle threat either. Mac on a rampage was not to be taken lightly. 

"Okay," Mac said, suddenly all business. "Now what?" 

Vic looked at his watch. "Three hours to sunrise," he said. "Not much we can do in the time. Pick up the credentials Dobrinsky promised, check to see if the computer geeks got anything useful off Hamilton's computer, see if Nathan's come up with anything in Records." 

"Anything that _doesn't_ involve aliens or Alex Trebek," Mac added. "What about you, Cash?" 

For a moment, Vic had forgotten about the older Gangrel. The man was so silent that if you weren't looking directly at him, you wouldn't realize he was there. 

Cash shook his head. "This place is just... weird," he muttered to himself. "No. The Prince gave me permission to stay here for the day. As soon as the sun goes down again, I'm back on the road. I _really_ need to get away from cities for a while." 

Mac looked worried, despite the reassurance. "Are you okay, Cash? You didn't have a fight with Julian or something, did you?" 

Vic wanted to tell him to shut up: Cash was a big boy and could take care of himself. Cash just looked amused. "No, we didn't fight. I was feeling... restless." 

"So you just _left_ him?" Mac sounded shocked. 

Now Cash was looking peeved. "No, I did not 'just leave him,'" he snapped. "I have served him for forty years and been his lover for most of that. Sometimes we need to spend some time apart. As well, I've been in San Francisco for more than a decade and people are starting to comment on how little I've changed in that time. I need to leave town. So, I'm taking a vacation. In a few years, it will be time for Julian to change identities and I'll rejoin him then." 

Then he softened a little. "When you've got the chance to be together for centuries, a few years apart are nothing. Hell, if nothing else it'll give us something new to talk about." 

Mac shook his head. "I just don't understand how you can simply walk away like that." Neither could Vic, for that matter. 

Cash chuckled. "That's because the two of you are so young. You haven't learned to see the long run yet. Wait a few decades and you'll understand." 

Mac still looked dubious. As for Vic, his mind said that it made sense, but his gut hated the idea of leaving everyone and heading out into the wilderness alone. But like Cash said, he hadn't learned to think that far ahead yet. He'd needed to learn to think in terms of decades and centuries. 

By this time, they'd reached the exit. Cash stopped and looked at them for a moment. "Vic, can I talk to you for a moment?" The pointed look in Mac's direction added the word 'alone' to the request. 

Mac didn't look happy about it. "I'll meet you at the car," he told Vic flatly, then walked away. The soles of his shoes slapped inelegantly against the pavement. 

Vic winced, then turned back to Cash. He leaned back against the wall, folded his arms over his chest and waited for the man to say whatever it was he hadn't wanted to say in front of Mac. 

"Come with me," Cash said. Vic waited, but there was no elaboration. 

"Where?" he finally asked. 

"North. Or south. Wherever the road takes us." Cash reached over and touched his arm. "My Sire Embraced me, then vanished. I had to figure out everything on my own. I always said that I wouldn't do the same to any Childe of mine. For the last six months, I've regretted letting her take you away. I want to correct that mistake. There's so much I can teach you." He sounded... wistful. 

"I've had a teacher," Vic pointed out. 

Cash shook his head. "It's not the same. How could it be without the blood bond? Even after all this time, I'm sure you can still feel it." 

And he could. It was like an elastic band, pulling him towards the other man, no matter how much he fought it. He wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to fight it. 

But there other bonds, just as strong. Two in particular restrained him. "She won't let me go," he said. Cash would know who he was talking about. 

"She said she would if you decided you wanted to go." 

For a moment, hope flared. He liked his work and his partners— hell, even his boss most of the time—but he felt trapped too. He hadn't been given a choice about coming to work for the Agency, and he'd been told more than once that he couldn't leave unless she decided to let him. Now he could. Freedom to travel, to see the world, a larger world now that he knew the truth. 

But freedom always had a price. "What about Mac?" 

Cash wouldn't meet his eyes. "He stays." 

And sometimes the price was too high. "Forget it. I'm not going to abandon him." 

Cash just looked resigned. "I had the feeling you'd say that. I did try, but she wasn't willing to let you both go." 

Vic laughed, a bitter sound. "Of course not. She knows I wouldn't leave him, so she gives me the illusion of a choice that is really no choice at all." 

"I'm going to be at the Hockley Valley nature reserve for a week or so. If you change your mind..." 

Vic nodded. "I won't, but I appreciate the offer." 

"Take care of yourself then, Vic." 

Giving in to impulse, Vic hugged the man tightly, then kissed him. Lips were closed and there was no tongue involved, but it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek either. 

Then he pulled away, turned and walked out the door. He didn't look back. 

Mac was waiting for him in the car. The engine was running and something with a heavy beat was blaring from the speakers. Vic opened the passenger side door and slid in. 

"What did he want?" 

Vic looked at Mac, but the younger man stared straight ahead, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. 

"He wanted me to go with him. The Director said yes." 

There was no visible reaction. "When do you leave?" 

"I don't. I'm staying." 

There was a long moment of silence. Then all the tension drained away. "You are?" 

"Of course I am," Vic snapped, a little annoyed that Mac thought he would just leave like that. "Idiot. Now, are we going home, or are we just going to sit here until the sun comes up?" 

"I thought we needed to talk to Dobrinsky, Nathan and the techs?" Mac said, teasing now. Despite the words, he'd already put the car into drive and was headed for the road. 

"They can wait until tonight. I just want to go home." 

"Good," Mac said cryptically. 

The drive was silent, as was the ride up in the elevator to their floor. Vic was getting a little worried. Mac was _never_ silent, unless he was upset or up to something. 

The door shut behind them, and Vic opened his mouth to ask Mac what was up and to try to reassure him again that he wasn't going anywhere. Before he could say anything, though, Mac had slammed him up against the door and was doing his best to suck his tongue out of his head. 

Mac tore at his clothes with hungry hands as Vic tried to steer them towards the bedroom. He still wasn't sure what had gotten into his partner, but he had the feeling that he was going to want something soft under him for whatever was going to happen next. 

Not that he was objecting, of course. His hands were just as busy at the task of stripping Mac. He knew that they were leaving a trail of clothing behind them, but his usual neatnik instincts didn't mind. Hell, considering the number of things in their path they'd knocked over, the place probably looked like a hurricane had swept through. 

They hit the bed still clawing at each other, but there was nothing left to remove except skin. Fingernails were leaving bloody trials, but the sting of the scrapes just added to the heat of the moment. 

As soon as his back hit the mattress, Vic was flipped over onto his stomach. He could have fought back, but by now he was so hot that he didn't care what Mac did to him as long as he fucked him _now_. 

And he got his wish faster than he'd expected. Mac pulled him up onto his knees and spread his ass cheeks as wide as they would go. Then there was a hawking sound and something cool and slimy hit his asshole with amazing accuracy. Then his ass was pulled a little higher and Mac thrust home in one quick thrust without any preparation. 

Vic bit into the bedspread as pain and pleasure merged. Mac was thrusting hard and fast, his fingers digging into Vic's hips to hold him in place. Vic was hard enough to break boards, but he couldn't reach back to take care of himself. He needed both hands to brace himself against the force of Mac's fucking. He tried to push back against Mac's thrusts, but the grip on his hips kept him from moving. All he could do was stay where he was and take it. 

The pressure was building now, and a keeping sound vibrated in the back of his throat. He was shaking with the force of the approaching explosion. He threw his head back, then howled as Mac's fangs buried in his shoulder. His semen pulsed out of his cock in the same rhythm as the blood from the wound. 

Completely limp now, he collapsed. Mac followed him down, continuing to pound into him, uncaring of anything by his own need. Thankfully he didn't take long before he froze, pulsing inside of Vic. 

Mac pulled out of Vic's throbbing ass and collapsed next to him. Vic knew that they were going to stink come nightfall if they didn't get cleaned up, but nothing on earth was going to get him to move, not even food. 

Mac didn't seem interested in leaving the bed either. Instead, he wrapped himself tightly around Vic, already mostly asleep. "Don't go," was the last thing he mumbled. 

"I won't," Vic promised, hugging him even tighter. 

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Khalil woke late the next day. In fact, he woke so late that he realized that he had missed all his classes for the day. For a moment he felt a wave of guilt over that. Despite the fact that his main goal at the moment was to live life like he hadn't been allowed to while living under his parent's thumbs, this was the first time he'd actually missed a class. Getting a degree so that he could get a good job was important to staying _out_ of his parent's control. 

But he quickly shook off the guilt, pointing out to himself that he could easily catch up on any class work. Besides, exams were just around the corner, so most of his summer courses were just recapping anyway. And really, what had happened the night before had been far more important. 

He stretched out on the stained sheets, reliving the night in his mind. His cock twitched a little, but refused to get hard. He'd been completely drained. 

She'd been incredible. She had done things to him that he hadn't even thought humanly possible. The things she'd shown him would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, he was sure. 

And then, sometime just before dawn, she'd left. He'd been completely limp, but she'd been bursting with energy, humming under her breath as she dressed. Then she'd kissed him one last time before leaving, setting the apartment door to lock behind herself. 

Khalil pulled himself out of bed and staggered down the short hallway to the bathroom. His reflection spoke eloquently of how exhausting the previous night had been. His face was pale under the beard stubble and his eyes were bloodshot. The skin surrounding them looked almost bruised. Real bruises ringed his throat and dotted what he could see of his chest in the mirror, marking all the places she'd sucked and bitten. 

He looked like hell. He felt fantastic. Completely devoid of energy, but fantastic. 

He grinned at his reflection. No longer would the stigma of virginity be attached to him. He was now a _man_. 

His only regret was that she'd refused to tell him her name. How could he properly immortalize her? And more importantly, how could he find her again? 

A hot shower and a meal later, he was feeling human again. He also had a plan of action. As soon as the clubs opened, he would go back to the club that evening; the club where he'd met his exotic temptress. Maybe she would be there again. Maybe she would do all those wonderful things to him again. 

Until then, he might not know her name, but her image still glowed brightly in his mind. He pulled out the leather-bound journal his mother had given him for his poetry and opened it to the first blank page, then picked up his pen and began to write. 

* * *

Sunset found Jackie preparing for the night, getting ready to prowl. A pair of tight, black leather shorts and a black tank top two sizes too small, with a loose silver mesh shirt over them, and spike-heeled boots built the look of a typical young woman on the make. She wouldn't go unnoticed, not with _her_ assets, but she wouldn't stand out in the clubs. 

She was hunting. She grinned and let a hint of her true nature show through. A gleam of silver to the eyes and teeth slightly sharper than the norm. It was just enough to make a human nervous without being sure _why_ they were nervous. 

She giggled, then dampened it down. Playing with humans was fun—LiAnn had been a blast before she'd found out about the Kindred, so easy to make all antsy—but she didn't want to scare them away tonight. Kind of difficult to pump them for info if they didn't want to be anywhere near you. 

After one last check in the mirror to make sure that running _away_ was the last thing anyone was going to be doing, Jackie grabbed her tiny purse, barely large enough to hold LiAnn's photo and some money, and headed for the door. 

The cab driver gave her an appreciative look as she slid into the back seat and directed him to the club that Jack Murphy had been seen at his last night. She grinned: Maybe she'd get to do some hunting of a _different_ sort that night as well. 

* * *

Mac woke in gradual stages, buoyed by a bone-deep feeling of satisfaction. He felt so good that he didn't even _want_ to wake up. He rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head. 

Unfortunately, his lover had different ideas. The blankets were torn off the bed, exposing him to a cold, cruel and way too bright world. This was made up for by a mug of warm, fragrant blood held out to him as he reluctantly sat up, though. He snatched it out of the man's hands, unable to restrain a growl. He was starving for some reason, and the beast was rattling its chains. 

He finished the mug in about three gulps, calming the beast slightly, but not satiating it completely. A second mug was handed to him, and this time he took his time to savor the flavor. In a way, he still missed the pleasure of drinking his favorite Chinese beer, as well as the taste of proper Hong Kong cuisine, but he couldn't remember them ever tasting as satisfying as this, sick as that might sound. 

He set the second mug down on the bedside table, next to the first, with a satisfied sigh. The beast was purring deep inside. The he stiffened. Now that the hunger was out of the way, he remembered just _why_ he'd been so ravenous. He hadn't eaten before sleeping because he'd... 

He looked up at Vic. The man was standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame wearing nothing but a pair of ratty old jeans. His bare chest still showed the marks of frenzied—and violent—sex, especially the deep bite marks on his shoulder, and considering how fast the Kindred healed, that said a lot. 

"Oh, boy." 

Vic's lips twitched, but his expression didn't change. 

"About this morning..." Mac tried again, then floundered. His stomach clenched, and for a moment he was sure that his meal was going to come right back up again. "Are you mad?" he finally asked. 

Silence. Mac shut his eyes with a groan, wondering if he'd managed to screw things up so badly that Vic might reconsider Cash's offer. 

The moment he wasn't looking at Vic anymore, he was tackled. The only warning he had was a slight breeze as the man moved. 

In a flash, he was pinned to the mattress. Vic was staring down at him through eyes that were completely inhuman now. There was no trace of the original green color left. Instead, his eyes were silver, with pupils that had narrowed to thin cat-like slits. His lips pulled back in a feral expression that exposed fully extended fangs. Mac froze, afraid of his partner for the first time he could remember. 

Then Vic's fangs were sinking into his completely unprepared neck. Mac gasped at the flash of pain, then was distracted by Vic's hips grinding against his groin. The feel of the denim covered zipper rubbing against his cock was painful, but he was also getting hard. With a bit of struggle, he was able to get his arms free, but instead of pushing Vic away, he found himself pulling the man even closer. 

It was all too intense to last. Mac's back arched so hard that he felt like it was going to snap and came all over the front of Vic's jeans. He collapsed back onto the mattress, a limp, sticky mess. Vic was licking at the sluggishly bleeding gash in his neck. 

Then Vic lifted his head. The fangs were hidden and his eyes were green again. The only hints of his other nature were the still slightly narrow pupils and the smear of blood at the corner of his now smiling mouth. 

"Are _you_ mad?" Vic asked, speaking for the first time since Mac had woken up. 

"Huh?" 

"For this." Vic gestured down at their post-sex state. 

Mac stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding? It was... incredible! I've never been into the rough stuff, but this..." His paused, trying to find the words. 

"Then that should answer _your_ question. Just don't do it _too_ often." It took Mac a moment to figure out what he meant. 

Vic rolled off of him and stood up, scratching at the crotch of his jeans. The fabric looked to be soaked from both sides. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who had gotten off—literally—on Vic's idea of an explanation. 

"Come on," the man said, swatting Mac's leg. "We've got a ton of work to do, and the night won't last forever." He stripped the jeans off, showing that he wasn't wearing anything underneath and confirming that he _had_ come in them. He headed for the door to the bathroom, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Mac who was fascinated by the movement of his ass. "Wash my back?" he suggested. 

A minute earlier, Mac would have said that he couldn't move to save his own life. Now he couldn't move fast enough to suit himself. 

* * *

The shower ended up being very long, leaving Mac feeling completely refreshed. He'd ended up washing Vic's back, as well as every other part of his body, and had the favor returned. Neither one of them was up to a second round so soon, but he could feel Vic's blood humming through his veins, and knew that the other man felt the same. The sense of connection was almost as good as sex. Then they dressed quickly, had a second meal, and got on their way. 

Unfortunately, his high spirits didn't last. Vic was whistling along with the radio as he drove, one of those old-fashioned blues songs he loved to listen to, while Mac tried to hold off the doubts he'd been having earlier. It wasn't easy, though, and Mac hated it. He'd never thought himself this... needy. 

After several minutes of this, Vic suddenly swerved out of traffic, ignoring a few irritated honks, and stopped on the side of the road, only five minutes away from the Agency. "All right, enough already," he snapped. "What is your problem?" 

Mac stared at him in shock, completely thrown off guard by the sudden stop. "Huh?" 

"You've been brooding ever since you saw Cash last night, and I want to know what's wrong. Talk." 

"Or what?" Mac shot back. 

Vic shrugged. "Or don't." He sighed. "I can't force you to tell me what's wrong, but can't you trust me?" 

"Of course I trust you!" Vic just stared at him. Mac slumped back against the headrest. "It's stupid," he muttered to himself. 

"So what else is new?" The obvious humor and concern took the sting out of the words. "Is it LiAnn?" 

Mac almost took the convenient excuse, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "No, you were right. She can take care of herself. And she knows the country. It's not like she'd stand out like we would." 

"So what then? Mac..." Vic's voice trailed off as he gave Mac his best 'I'm worried' look. It was pretty obvious what Vic was doing: He was trying to guilt Mac into telling him what was wrong. Even worse, it was working. 

"Cash left Julian," he finally said. 

"So?" Mac fidgeted, feeling a little foolish. He knew his feelings were silly, and he didn't want to have to put them into words. Thankfully, Vic quickly put two and two together. He bounced his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. Then he sat up straight, in perfect control. 

"Mac, I wish I could say that I'll never leave you, but we both know how foolish those sorts of promises can be. But I have no intention of going anywhere, not if I have any say in it." 

"Yeah, but Cash talked like getting the urge to pull up stakes and leave was normal for Gangrels." 

"Well, yeah. At least that's what Moira said. But are you saying that you wouldn't come with me when it happens?" 

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Mac's eyes went wide as he realized that there was a possibility that he hadn't considered. "Do you think _she'd_ agree?" he asked. 

"Who the fuck cares?" Vic shot back with a snarl. Then he sighed. "I let her stop me from leaving this time by hanging onto you, but I didn't really _want_ to go, at least not yet," he said a little more calmly. "Listen, there's no guarantees for either of us. Either one of us could end up permanently dead, tomorrow or next year. Or you could decide that you don't want to be with me anymore. But I promise you this: If I ever _need_ to leave, and we're still together, you're coming with me." 

Then his expression turned impish. "Even if I have to bash you over the head and pack you in my luggage. Got it?" 

Mac laughed at the mental image. "Got it," he agreed, feeling relieved. 

"Good." Vic released the brake and pulled the car back into traffic. "Of course, if we don't do our job we won't have to worry about it, because the Director will kill us herself." 

* * *

The Karnak was the latest in a long stream of themed dance clubs to occupy the old brick building at the center of the nightlife district of downtown Toronto. It had originally been built as a warehouse, but back in the days when even warehouses were designed to have appealing exteriors. Old-fashioned but nice was Jackie's verdict as she paid the cabbie. She resisted the urge to slap the old letch when he openly looked down her front as she leaned over. 

Yep, old-fashioned. If you ignored the neon pyramid on the roof and the patching neon sign—complete with palm trees—on the front of the building, of course. Inside, the theme was carried over in everything. The floor was a glittery gold, obviously intended to look like sand. There were a couple really fake looking sarcophagi in the corners to add ambiance and the wall behind the bar was painted with a huge mural of camels and sand dunes and pyramids. It, at least, wasn't half-bad. 

Jackie squeezed in close to the bar. The shooters all had cheesy names, so she settled with asking for a glass of white wine. It wasn't cheap, and she tipped heavily to soften the bartender up before pulling out LiAnn's picture and asking if he'd seen her. 

He looked at the picture for a moment, then handed it back, shaking his head. "Nope. Haven't seen her around," he said, quite definitively. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said sarcastically. "Look, in this line of work, you learn to recognize faces. Trust me, I'd remember _that_ face." He frowned suddenly. "But there was a kid, maybe a week ago. Had a piece of paper with a painting, of all things, on it. Looked like her. He was asking the same question. Said he'd met her here. Couldn't help him either." 

"Do you remember his name?" Jackie asked, although she was pretty sure who it had been. 

"Nah. He drank Molson Extra. I remember the faces and the drinks. It's all I need to know about them." 

"Well then, what did he look like?" 

"Maybe twenty, freckled. Five foot nine. Skinny. Purple hair with glitter on the ends. Haven't seen him in a while. 'Scuse me, gotta get back to work." 

He was at the other end of the bar mixing drinks for impatient customers before Jackie could point out that Jack Murphy wasn't going to be back ever. It was a little strange that he didn't know about it, since the police would have talked to everyone in the place after Murphy died. Maybe he hadn't been working that night. Still, it was strange. 

Jackie tucked the picture back in her purse, then picked up her wineglass and moved away from the bar, trying to avoid having it spilled down her front by a stray elbow. Almost as if by magic, a path opened up, leading to one of those tiny bar tables that you had to stand up at. It was miraculously empty, so she grabbed it before anyone else could. 

She leaned against the table and sipped her wine. The bar was elevated above the dance floor, so she had a good view looking out over the sea of gyrating bodies as she considered her next move. Did she go looking for friends of Jack Murphy, looking for the story of the woman he had been hunting for, or did she keep asking about LiAnn? And for that matter, what did she tell her boss? She now had one person who had seen vic #5 with her before his death, and another who said that the vic had been looking for her after that. It was a little strange that the kid had had a painting instead of a photo, though. 

"Hello. All alone?" 

Jackie looked up, ready with the brush-off, then stopped in surprise. It was Mister 'Tall, Dark and Handsome' from the other night and another club. 

He grinned at her expression, his teeth a brilliant white against dusky skin. "I told you I'd see you again," he said. "I'm usually right. So, interested in that rain check yet?" 

Alarm bells were going off in her head: How had he known where to find her? Stalker, coincidence or one of those damned Vampire Hunters were possibilities that quickly occurred to her. And yet there was something about his eyes... 

All of a sudden, she decided to throw caution to the winds and just enjoy herself. She tossed back the last of her wine, then stepped away from the table. "Why not? But first, I'm in the mood to dance." 

She held out her hand and he took it, bowing slightly at the waist, his eyes never leaving hers. They were very expressive eyes, almost seeming to be laughing. "If you wish to dance, then so be it." 

* * *

Mac was seeming more like his old cheerful self by the time they got out of the car, but Vic still watched him carefully. Even after several years of working together, he'd never really seen just how deep Mac's insecurities went; the younger man did too good a job covering them up with juvenile humor and brash behavior. 

Part of him was angry that his partner had been so willing to believe that he would just walk away from him like that, without a second thought. Luckily, he'd been able to hang onto his temper long enough for logic to kick in. After all, hadn't Mac's father done just that? And in a way, so had LiAnn. As for the Tangs, they had pushed him to the breaking point, then turned their backs on him. 

When put that way, Vic's jealousy of seeing Mac hugging a man he'd spent just one night with seemed pretty petty. It wasn't as if Cash was going to take Mac away from him or anything. 

The Director was nowhere to be found. Neither was Dobrinsky, much to Mac's relief and Vic's suspicion. It was like they were being avoided for some reason. However, there _was_ a packet on the boardroom table addressed to the two of them. Inside was all the documentation they needed for their nonexistent detective agency. Licenses to investigate, licenses to carry weapons, even a history. Vic would bet money that if he opened up a phonebook, he would find Mansfield and Ramsey Investigations listed. Hell, they probably even had a web-site. 

Never let it be said that the Agency did a sloppy job. 

That taken care of, they continued on to the next item on their list of things not done the night before; checking to see if forensics got anything useful off of Corinne Hamilton's computer. 

"Sorry guys," the man said. "Nothing even slightly interesting for you in the girl's files. A lot of homework assignments, personal email, that sort of stuff. No diary, and the email doesn't mention her meeting anyone new. Gotta say, though, this girl was seriously kinky. You should see some of the mailing lists she's on." 

Before Vic could ask, he was handed a several page printout listing those mailing lists and their members. Maybe the other victims were on the same lists, although he doubted it. Still, it was worth a try. 

"We also found a web-site in her name. Nothing there. Some scans of her artwork, the usual junk about her favorite bands and what she's reading. No hidden files, and it hadn't been updated since March." 

In other words, a dead end. "Thanks, Kyle," Vic said. He hadn't expected much, so he wasn't too disappointed. The police experts would have gone over the machine with a fine-toothed comb already. On the other hand, they had missed the portraits, so it had been worth a try. 

Next stop was records. The place was dead silent. "Nathan!" Vic hollered when the nervous little man didn't appear immediately. 

"Nathan's not here. Dobrinsky said he needed him for something." 

"I'll bet," Mac said with a smirk. Vic was just trying not to picture what that something might involve. Then he took a closer look at the attractive blonde who had spoken. 

"Careena?" he said in disbelief. 

"Hey, Vic. Long time no see." She shifted the large pile of file folder she was holding and nearly lost the top half. Vic moved to help her, but Mac beat him to it. "Thanks," she said, directing him towards the table. "Who's your new friend, Vic?" 

"Oh, sorry. You two never met, did you? Careena, this is my partner, Mac. Mac, Careena. She headed this department before Nathan." 

"Pleased to meet you," Mac said, holding out his hand. They shook, each eyeing the other. Vic wasn't sure what they were looking for, but Careena, at least, seemed satisfied. Mac's expression was perfectly blank. 

"Partner?" Careena said, turning back to Vic. "What happened to LiAnn?" 

"Don't you know?" Vic teased. "I thought that the people in records knew everything." 

"Well, considering I just got back from Tierra del Fuego, I'm a little behind in the gossip." 

"Tierra del Fuego?" Mac said in disbelief. "What did you do to piss off the Director?" 

She shrugged. "I haven't a clue, but it must have been big. Actually, it wasn't too bad. The place _was_ beautiful, if a little cold in the winter. But boring as hell. So, what's the scoop?" 

"Not much to say," Vic told her. "The Director recruited Mac and assigned him to work with me and LiAnn, since he'd worked with her back before they joined the Agency. LiAnn had a bad experience a few months ago and was sent home to China to recover, so it's just the two of us now." 

"You and LiAnn still an item?" 

"Uh, no, not for a couple years now. Why?" 

"Great! I know this nice little restaurant, great music. How about dinner tomorrow night, my treat? I'll show you my vacation pictures," she added suggestively. 

Vic froze. He and Careena had flirted, back before she'd been shipped off, but it had never really been serious since he'd been with LiAnn. Sure, she was attractive, but he'd never expected any real response. For a moment he could hear Nikki saying 'Forget it, she's not your type.' 

"Forget it," Mac said, all ice, echoing Nikki. "He's not available." 

"Oh, really?" Careena said, looking Mac up and down as he stepped closer to Vic. 

"Really," Vic confirmed, breaking in before there was any bloodshed. "So, do you have anything related to our case?" he asked, trying to change the subject to something a little less dangerous. Mac was staring daggers at Careena, while she just looked amused. 

"Actually, I do," she said, all business now. She started flipping open the file folders she'd placed on the table. "I took a walk through as many police databases, North American and Interpol, as I could get to, looking to see if there were any cases similar to yours. I hit paydirt. 

Vic sat down and picked up the first folder, scanning the information quickly. 

"Three deaths in Victoria," she continued. "Two in Vancouver, two more in Calgary. There was even one in Saskatoon, of all places. All with the same MO, all unsolved. I printed out everything about the cases that I could get at. I'm still searching, so there may be more. Have fun, guys." Ignoring Mac's growl, she brushed past Vic, unnecessarily close, as she left the room. 

Mac picked up one of the other folders and started reading, pointedly not looking at Vic. He found it kind of amusing. 

"Mac?" Vic said, looking up from the page in front of him. A soft grunt was the only reply he got. "She's not my type." 

Mac still didn't say anything, but at least he was smiling. Vic turned his attention back to the file, still hearing Nikki's voice in his head. 

'Strippers, unwed mothers, any girl in trouble. It's the old wounded bird syndrome.' 

And, thank God, Mac. 

* * *

**Chapter Six**

For the next few hours, they sat at the table in records, going through the files that Careena had produced for them. The crime scene photos from the first one was enough to convince them that yes, this was the same killer at work. 

After that determination, they started passing the files back and forth, each of them writing notes on pads of paper of all the details that seemed important. It might not have been Mac's forte, but he still managed to fill several pages. He was also seeing a pattern form. 

"All right," Vic said as he closed the last file and made a few last notes. "What have we got?" 

Mac glanced at his pad, flipping to the page where he'd plotted the deaths out according to date. "The first death was in Victoria, five months ago," he said, tapping his pen against the page. "Then Vancouver, Calgary, Saskatoon and now Toronto. Other than Saskatoon, where there was only one death, the killings took place one week apart, except for the lulls when the killer changed cities." 

"Assuming that there weren't deaths we don't know about yet," Vic pointed out. "But that makes him not your usual serial killer." 

Mac frowned. "I'm not sure I follow you." 

"Serial killers tend to stay in one area," Vic explained, descending into a surprising lecture mode. "They also usually _want_ to be caught, so they make mistakes. This guy hasn't. He also isn't bragging to the press or taunting cops. Serial killers usually want attention." 

Vic stared at the page in front of him while Mac watched, fascinated. He could remember LiAnn talking about how unsophisticated Vic was, and hearing the undertones that said she also considered him barely educated, but here he was sounding more like a psych teacher. Or a cop who knew his stuff. He was struck again by how little LiAnn had known about the man she'd worked with for more than a year before his arrival, not to mention a man she'd planned to marry. 

"Now, spree killers do travel," Vic continued, "but they tend to be very sloppy, just killing anyone who gets in their way. As well, they usually just shoot them, or something similar. They certainly don't go to _this_ level of effort. They also tend to escalate, killing more people, with shorter intervals between, until they get chased down." 

"And that certainly doesn't describe this guy either," Mac summed up for him. "So we're dealing with something new and different. Quelle surprise. But you keep saying 'he.'" 

Vic shrugged. "Most serial killers are male. The female ones are usually nurses poisoning patients or black widows killing husbands." 

"Yeah, but we've already decided that we're dealing with something out of the ordinary, so it could be a woman," Mac pointed out. "Besides, what about the portrait?" 

"We still don't know what, if anything, she had to do with Hamilton's death. If we can link her to any of the other victims, _then_ she becomes a consideration." 

Mac was a little dubious. Vic might know more about police work and homicide than he did, but Mac had learned to trust his instincts. Right now, his gut was telling him that the portrait was very important and that the resemblance to LiAnn was more than just a coincidence. He kept silent, though, since there was no evidence to back up his gut. 

"As for choice of victims..." Vic trailed off, shaking his head. "They're all young and attractive, but other than that, they don't seem to have anything in common." 

Mac brightened up. "Yes they do," he said, pleased with himself for having noticed something that Vic hadn't. 

He flipped to the page he wanted while Vic waited expectantly. "Here we go. In Victoria, the victims were two musicians—one rock, on classical—and a sculptor. In Vancouver it was a writer and a jewelry maker. In Calgary, a dancer and a poet. In Saskatoon, a street busker. And here, a singer, a sculptor, a potter and two painters." He shut the pad with a slap and looked up. Vic was staring at him. 

"All in the arts, either as a living or a hobby," he said, then smacked his forehead. "How the hell did I miss that?" 

"Maybe because they aren't all in the same kind of arts?" Mac suggested. "I mean, if they were all painters, it would be obvious, but a painter, a writer and a busker? They don't seem to have much in common." 

"Until you look at the bigger picture," Vic finished for him. "Nice catch." 

Mac preened a little at the compliment. "Thanks, I had a good teacher." Then he deflated slightly. "Still doesn't tell us how they are picked or where." 

"But it's a start." 

Mac stared at the folders for a moment, waiting for Vic to say something. Finally, he gave in. "Vic, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 

Vic snorted softly. "I could make some tasteless Pinky and the Brain joke, but yeah. The killings are in a line from the west coast heading east." 

"Cash's cryptic warning," Mac said. "Oriental interest in Toronto." 

"Of course, the killer could still be moving," Vic pointed out, sounding almost hopeful. 

"Maybe, but there hasn't been more than three killings in any one town. We've had five. And besides, if he does move one, where to? Montreal? Quebec City? He —assuming that it _is_ a he—would still be killing kids." 

"So we stop him here." It was a statement, not a question. 

"We stop him here," Mac echoed, equally full of determination. 

* * *

Jackie couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself so much. Sanji— her mystery man's name, it turned out—was an excellent dancer. She'd never danced with anyone so completely in tune with his partner. It was almost uncanny, the way he'd read her mind, anticipating her moves. 

So they had danced and drank and talked the night away until the bartender— not the one she'd been talking to earlier—announced last call. 

That was a shock. Jackie looked around and was surprised to find that the place was half-empty. 

"Come on," Sanji said. His hand was on her arm, urging her towards the door. 

Outside it was still hot and humid, even though it was well past midnight and on its way to morning. Neon lights flashed, up and down the street, and everyone was moving slowly, giving the scene an air of unreality. 

Sanji turned left just outside the Karnak's doors and they started to walk down the street, threading their way through the light crowds of drunk or stoned club hoppers, prostitutes and homeless. 

Jackie was feeling pleasantly buzzed, just enough to make her very cheerful and her body tingle. She felt good; not a care in the world. She leaned in closer to Sanji, enjoying the feel of his lean body pressed against her side. It had been a while since she'd taken a lover—Mac, before she'd been Embraced, and the Director and Dobrinsky for a little bit of fun. This guy had potential. 

"Want to take this someplace a little more private?" Sanji purred in her ear, echoing her thoughts. 

He had the most incredible voice. It was like... She tried to think of a good comparison, but the best she could come up with was the cliché about warm honey, smooth and oh so sweet. 

She was about to say yes when the blast from a car horn jolted her out of her pleasant haze. Dawn was only a few hours away, she suddenly realized. She'd managed to waste an entire night that was supposed to be spent tracing the victims, not to mention LiAnn. Instead, she'd been playing 'date' with the fascinating Sanji. 

The thought of trying to explain that to the Director was like being dropped in a tub of ice-water. Suddenly she was fully awake. "I can't," she said, coming to a sudden stop and checking the street for a cab. 

"Are you sure?" Sanji said, stroking her arm with a fingertip. He tugged her closer, but she resisted. "It seems a shame to end the night so soon." 

Jackie finally saw a cab and waved it down. It pulled over to the curb right next to them. "I have to be at work in a few hours," she said, pulling away from Sanji. 

"That's not what you said before." 

She pulled the cab door open, then paused, frowning. "What do you mean? What did I say before?" she asked, trying to remember and coming up blank. 

"That you were a secret agent and made your own hours," he said, his teeth flashing brightly in the glow of the street lights. 

Every hair on her body seemed to be standing on end. "And you believed that?" she said brightly, clutching the door frame. 

"What can I say?" he said with a grin. "You were very persuasive." 

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a receptionist and I need to be at work at nine," she lied. 

"If you say so," Sanji said as she slid halfway into the backseat of the cab. "I'll see you later." 

He turned and vanished into the sidewalk crowd that was growing in numbers as the clubs and bars closed, one by one. Jackie stared after him, trying to pick him out from the press of bodies without luck. 

"Listen, lady, do you want me to take you someplace or not? The meter's running." 

Still distracted, she climbed the rest of the way into the cab and gave the driver her address. The cab immediately pulled away from the curb in one of those death-defying traffic merges that cabbies seemed to love. 

Jackie didn't even notice. 

* * *

Last call had come and gone, and Khalil found himself wandering the streets of downtown Toronto, his eyes fixed on the cracked pavement and sweat trickling down the side of his face. The heat and humidity that had been hanging over the city for several weeks now combined into a soup that made breathing difficult. 

However, Khalil was oblivious to all that, sunk in a depressed haze. It had seemed so easy that afternoon: Go back to the club where he'd met his Goddess. There he would either find her or someone who knew her. But it hadn't worked out that way. No matter how many people he asked—club hoppers, bartenders or bouncers—he couldn't find _anyone_ who would admit to having seen her. He couldn't understand how someone so... incredible could have been ignored like that. 

It was confusing. He could almost believe that it had all been a dream, except his dreams were never quite that vivid. 

No, it couldn't have been a dream. He refused to believe that. She was real and he was going to find her. It would just take a little longer. That was all. 

He just wasn't sure _how_ he was going to find her. 

But it was too late to do anything that night. Even the bars were closing, spitting out a stream of drunken regulars, and Khalil had to consider how he was going to get home. It was too late for the transit and he didn't have enough cash for a cab. 

Khalil groaned in frustration. When he went clubbing, he usually either went with friends with a car or made sure he left before the trains stopped running. Luckily, walking home was do-able. It was a long walk, but he'd done longer. 

He quickly crossed over to the opposite sidewalk and headed down a side street at a brisk walk, not looking forward to the nearly an hour walk. He had two classes the next day that he couldn't miss, and he was going to be short on sleep already, so he wanted to get back to the apartment he would be sharing come fall term as quickly as possible. 

And after his classes he would hit the clubs again. Just because he hadn't found his Goddess the first time was no reason to give up. In fact, it was appropriate that he would have to labor greatly to find her again. True romance should never be easy. It never was in the classic tales. 

Khalil passed along the dark street whistling, cheered by that thought. The neon lights of the clubs were well behind him and there were fewer street lights as he moved into more residential areas. An eerie haze hung made it difficult to see, but he wasn't bothered. 

It wasn't until he heard an unexpected sound that he started paying attention to his surroundings again. The street was lined on both sides with older apartment buildings, silent as a tomb. No cars and no one else foolish enough to be out at that hour. He couldn't even hear the sounds of traffic from busier streets not too far away. He stopped and listened, a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead. 

Then he heard it again: the sound of something hard scraping against metal. It wasn't very loud, but it seemed to echo in the silent street. 

Khalil followed the sound, letting his curiosity get the better of him. It lead him around the side of a short, squat brick building that was naked of anything even vaguely resembling an adornment. There he found an alleyway, empty except for a single chipped and battered dumpster, barely visible in the gloom. He couldn't see anything else, but the sound continued. He moved forward, trying to figure out what was making it. Rats? A bum? Something else? 

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, letting him pick up on small movements from the top of the dumpster. Then there was a glint. 

It was a bird, black as the shadows. The glint had been a stray bit of light reflecting off a dark eye. An eye that seemed to be fixed on him. The bird—a raven, by the size—hopped across the dumpster, its talons scraping the metal making the sound that had drawn him into the shadows. 

It stopped at the edge of the dumpster, staring at him with a look of almost uncanny intelligence, making him think of Poe's classic poem. He almost expected it to croak "Nevermore." But when the bird's beak opened, all that came out was a harsh sound that made him flinch. The bird spread its wings and made another sound, this one suspiciously like a laugh. 

Khalil stiffened at the amused croak. He came from a heritage of warriors, and he would be damned if he would cower before a carrion eater. His hands clenched into fists and he stepped forward, not really thinking, but determined to do _something_. 

Immediately, the raven was in flight, heading directly for his face. Khalil ducked, purely on instinct, then cried out as a trailing talon slashed his forehead. 

The bird gone and the alley silent again, Khalil straightened up, gasping in the thick air. He touched fingertips to his forehead and winced. His fingers came away stained with the slick darkness of blood. 

Dizzy with confusion, Khalil backed up towards the slightly brighter street, watching the shadows for any other signs of movement. He didn't know much about ravens, but he had the feeling that this one's behavior wasn't normal. For one thing, weren't ravens day birds? 

Once he was out of the shadows, everything became normal again. He could hear a distant siren and car horn from the next block over, but he couldn't seem to shake a feeling of dread. Watching the skies as best he could for the bird returning, Khalil headed for home at a near run. 

* * *

Deciding that after running off at the mouth with Sanji—although she still didn't remember doing it—it was a little too late to worry about security, Jackie had the cab driver drop her off right in front of her apartment building. After paying the amazingly butch looking woman the fare, plus a generous tip that got her leered at, she hurried inside, already fumbling with her tiny purse to extract her apartment key. 

It wasn't until she was inside and the door was carefully locked behind her that she started to relax. She leaned back against the solidity of the door and laughed at herself, feeling more than a little foolish. Sure, it had been a weird evening, but that was no reason to be acting like one of those silly twits in a slasher movie. 

Of course, it didn't change the fact that something really strange was going on. She didn't usually forget her job like that, no matter how cute the guy was. Not to mention the fact that she'd apparently told Sanji things that she most definitely shouldn't have. If the Director found out, she would rip her a new one. 

No, something strange was definitely going on. She needed to know just who this Sanji was. She was also beginning to wonder if 'what' might even be a better question, considering how quickly and thoroughly he'd disappeared on the sidewalk. Sure, there was bit of a crowd, but not _that_ big. Come nightfall, she needed to do some research, not that she had much to go on. And she was definitely needed to avoid him in the future. 

In the meantime, she stank. A long soak in a bubble bath was definitely in order, followed by something to eat and an early bed. 

Jackie toed out of her high-heeled boots and kicked them into the corner of the room with a sigh of pleasure. She loved the way they made her admittedly short legs look, but after being squeezed into them for an entire night, if felt damned good to be able to wriggle her toes in the thick carpet of the living room. 

She was headed for the bedroom, the mesh top already tossed onto the sofa and the tank top pulled up over her head, when she saw the message light blinking on the phone sitting on the counter between the kitchen and living room. She stared at it for a moment, debating on whether to check it now or leave it until she got a good day's sleep. On the one hand, it could be something important. On the other hand, it could be the Director wanting a progress report; something she couldn't exactly provide yet. 

Finally, curiosity got the better of her. She dropped the tank top on the floor, then walked over and punched the speaker button, followed by the code to listen to her messages. There were three. 

The first was from the Director, asking for that report she was dreading making. Her stomach clenched as she considered just what to tell the woman. As her boss, the woman could be pretty scary. As Prince of the city, the most important Kindred in town, she could be downright terrifying. 

The second one was from Vic, asking pretty much the same thing. That didn't worry her as much. Vic was an easy-going kind of guy. She knew that she could satisfy him with a quick answer of "nothing yet" and a promise to call him the moment she found anything out. She liked Vic, even if he had ignored all her attempts to get him into bed. 

But the third message was the one that really threw her for a loop. She froze as a very familiar voice dripping with sarcasm emerged from the phone speaker. It was amazingly clear. Almost preternaturally so. 

"Hello, Jackie. Still living life dangerously, I see. You really should be more careful about who you play with. Give my love to the boys. On second thought, don't bother." 

There was a beep, followed by an electronic squeal that made her slap her hands to her ears with a pained cry. 

Her ears were still ringing when her nostrils flared. She could smell smoke, ever so faintly. Opening eyes that she didn't remember closing, she was just in time to see her phone spark and die. 

She stared at in disbelief for a moment. Then she ran for the bedroom and the other phone. It was fine, so she hit the 'messages' button, and a recorded voice told her that she had two saved messages and no unheard messages. A check of the memory showed only two calls received, and she knew without checking that neither of the messages was going to be the one that had just fried her other phone. The one from LiAnn. 

Jackie sat down on the edge of the bed wearing only her skirt and bra, staring out at nothing. She'd almost begun to doubt that the woman she was tracking was really LiAnn, but now she was certain it was her. Only problem was, she wasn't sure about anything else. 

But now she had a bunch of new questions. How had LiAnn managed to make her phone explode like that? And just what had she meant about living dangerously or being more careful? 

As for the second question, the only thing she could think of was the mysterious Sanji. There was definitely something up with the man. But no problem. She'd already decided she was going to avoid him from now on. 

Then her eyes narrowed. If the message _was_ about Sanji, how had LiAnn known she was with him? The only thing she could think of was that LiAnn was following one of them. The question was, which one? If it was Sanji, then she couldn't afford to avoid him. 

Because she finally had a lead. 

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Everyone involved in the hunt was well aware of the countdown over the next few days. The murders had happened at intervals of six to nine days. If they didn't find the killer in time, another mutilated body was going to turn up in a downtown alleyway. None of them wanted to see happen, so they were working at a furious rate guaranteed to attract attention, sooner or later. On the fourth night of their investigation it did. 

This was because the Agency wasn't the only organization investigating. The police were working were just as intently and just as aware of the fast approaching deadline. It was foolish to think that they wouldn't notice two men asking questions about the victims, or that they wouldn't be able to find out who they were. 

That was why when Vic and Mac came out of the Toronto Ceramic Arts co-op they found a man leaning against the side of Vic's car. Mac didn't need to see the man's badge to know what he was: his posture just screamed "Cop!" 

Vic came to a very casual stop and stuck his hands in his pockets. Mac followed his lead. 

"Can we help you?" Vic asked in a voice that showed only mild curiosity. Mac knew him better, though. Vic was practically glowing with tension. 

The man pushed away from the car with a glare. Mac wasn't impressed. The guy was five inches shorter than himself, but probably fifty pounds heavier, and not with muscle. He was wearing a dark suit made of fine materials and looked to be tailored specially for him, but it was far too heavy for the current heat wave. His face glistened in the light from the street lamps. 

"Victor Mansfield," the man said, his voice dripping with disdain. Vic didn't show any reaction, but Mac bristled on his behalf. 

"Well, you obviously know who I am, but I can't say the same," Vic said. 

"McKenzie. Homicide. And yes, I know all about you. A cop gone bad." 

"A cop framed, then cleared," Mac corrected him. The man's eyes flickered to him, then seemed to dismiss him. 

"McDowell was a friend of mine," the man said. "A _good_ friend." 

That got a reaction from Vic. "Speaking of dirty cops," he spat. 

Mac took a moment before he remembered that Joe McDowell was Vic's old team lead from when he was a Narc. The man had framed him, sent him to jail, then tried to kill him years later thinking that he was the leak exposing corruption in the police force. The man was now serving time in a maximum security prison up near Kingston. 

The cop growled and took a step forward, his hand twitching towards the bulge that Mac assumed was a gun. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mac said, dropping into a ready stance. He stayed calm, but was ready to break the man's arm if he went for his weapon. 

Luckily, McKenzie wasn't a complete fool. This time he took a longer look at Mac, and obviously recognized that he was a pro. He held his hands out from his sides. "We got a problem, boy?" he asked sarcastically. 

"I don't know. You tell me," Mac said, but he didn't relax. 

They stared at each other, stalemated. Mac was ready to stay like that all night, but Vic coughed discreetly. 

"Is there a point to this?" he asked when he had their attention. "'Cause if not, how about getting out of the way." 

McKenzie's nostrils flared in an expression that might have been intimidating if it weren't for the beads of sweat running down the sides of his face to drop from his jowls. "You've been poking your nose where it doesn't belong. This is a police investigation and you're not a cop anymore, so you better stay out of it." 

"Can't do that," Vic said. "Hamilton isn't happy with the police progress, so he hired us to find his daughter's killer." 

"That's _our_ job," McKenzie said stiffly. 

"And you're doing it so well, aren't you?" Mac sneered. "Not only haven't you caught the killer, there's been four more deaths since then. If _you_ aren't going to stop him, I guess we'll have to." 

"Mac..." Vic's hiss sound irritated, so he decided to take the implied suggestion. He straightened up very deliberately, tugging his clothing back into place. The impression he was projecting was of perfectly casual ease, but he was keeping a very close eye on the cop. If McKenzie even _looked_ like he was going to make a hostile move, Mac would have him on the ground, writhing in pain, before he even knew what hit him. 

Vic turned back to McKenzie. "Seems we're at an impasse," he said mildly. "You don't what us investigating, but that's what we've been paid to do. So unless you've got something else to say..." 

"You better believe I do," McKenzie snarled, stepping forward. Mac immediately stepped between them. The overweight cop stopped and glared at him for a moment before looking over his shoulder at Vic. "You and your pretty boy better watch yourselves. If there's even a _hint_ that you're interfering in this investigation, you're going to find yourself back behind bars and playing bitch for any con who wants your pasty white ass." 

Then he smiled. "And I can name a few people there who would _love_ to have a shot at you. Watch your back, Mansfield. I'll be keeping an eye on you. _Both_ of you." 

"Awfully interested in your ass, isn't he?" Mac said loudly as the man walked away. "Maybe he wants to kiss it. He probably has a lot of practice." 

Vic shushed him. McKenzie stiffened for a moment, then kept on walking. Mac managed to resist the urge to stick out his tongue at the man's back. Barely. 

Once the man was out of sight, Mac turned to find Vic looking at him with an exasperated expression. "What?" he protested. 

"The idea was _not_ to annoy the cops, remember?" Vic pointed out. 

Mac shrugged, but he blushed a little. "What can I say? He annoyed me first." 

Vic's expression softened. "He was an arrogant jerk, wasn't he?" 

Mac snorted. "That doesn't even _begin_ to describe him," he said. "I mean, what a cliché. Where do they find these guys anyway?" 

Vic looked off to the side. They could both hear the squeal of tires as the cop pulled out of the parking a lot faster than was really safe. "I don't know," he said sadly. His eyes had the distant look of someone seeing the past, not the present. 

"Well, it looks like they didn't find all the bad apples, so we better be a little more careful." 

That got a bitter laugh out of his partner. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to jerk his chain." 

"Uh, right." Mac stared at his shoes, which had suddenly become very fascinating. "Sorry about that." He was, too. Everyone said that he acted without thinking. He hated it, but sometimes they were right. Now was one of those times. 

Mac's tone seemed to break through Vic's funk. He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. McKenzie was spoiling for a fight, and he'd have kept pushing buttons until he got one." 

"You know him?" Mac asked, curious in spite of himself. 

"Nah, but I know the type. Homicide cops always acted like they were superior to everyone else. Thankfully I didn't have to deal with them much." He paused and looked thoughtful. "You know, it might be an idea to run a check on him. If he's going to be trouble, we should get as much dirt on him as possible." 

"And if he was a friend of McDowell's, there should be plenty," Mac said, grinning broadly. He wanted to see McKenzie taken down a peg or two. Better yet, he wanted to be the one to do it. 

"So, what next?" he asked, changing the subject slightly. 

Vic blew a gust of air like a deflating tire. "I haven't a clue," he finally admitted. "We've gone through all of the victim's homes, talked to their friends, followed every lead that presented itself, and we've hit a wall. I'm stumped." 

* * *

Jackie was about ready to scream with frustration as she left yet another club after coming up blank yet again. After nearly a week of hunting, she hadn't gotten anywhere. She'd been to just about every dance club and bar in town without any luck. Not only hadn't she found LiAnn, the mysterious Sanji had also vanished into thin air. 

After their first two meetings, she'd expected him to just appear out of the woodwork, ready to make another move on her. After all, that's what he'd done the first two times. But there hadn't been any sign of him, and when she'd started asking bartenders about him as well, he'd turned out to be just as elusive as LiAnn. 

And as for LiAnn, there'd been no more cryptic messages or exploding phones. The next day, she'd replaced the phone, then gone into the headquarters on a whim to check the security tapes. 

Every Agency-owned apartment came with a seemingly endless supply of hidden cameras and microphones. They all knew it, or found out quickly. The official reason given if you complained was that it was for their own protection. Every agent managed to make enemies or become a target at some point in their career. Look at how many times Vic had been tracked down, usually by someone who wanted him dead or in bed. 

However, among the agents the favorite theory was that the Director was a voyeur; not hard to believe of a woman who was one of the founders of a kinky sex club. 

Whatever the reason, what was important was that the apartments were all under twenty-four hour monitoring, complete with video that was kept for a week before being overwritten. What she wanted to know was if LiAnn's message had been caught on _those_ tapes. 

Any hopes she'd had of that were dashed when she arrived at the Agency just after dark and found the security staff in an uproar. There'd been an explosion in the monitoring room the previous night. No one had been hurt, thankfully, but all of the equipment had been destroyed, as well as several days worth of tapes and their backups. 

Sabotaging a phone was one thing, but getting into the Agency headquarters and blowing up a room in the heart of the security department was definitely something else altogether. Suddenly, every hair on her body was standing on end, and she couldn't get out of there fast enough. She hadn't been back since. Phone messages had gone unanswered as her hunt became more and more urgent. Sooner or later, she was going to have to explain herself, but not yet. 

The countdown was on, but it was becoming personal. LiAnn was out there, and she was up to something. Sanji was also out there, and who knew what _he_ was up to. Well, she was going to find out. 

Assuming she could find either of them. 

She took a deep breath of the humid night air, stifling in its stillness, then turned and headed for the next place on her list. 

* * *

Forced to face the fact that they didn't have any leads left, Vic and Mac headed back to the Agency. Vic was hoping that Careena or Nathan had found something to help them, but he wasn't holding his breath. It was beginning to looked as if they were going to have to wait until there was another death, then strike while the trail was actually hot. 

He hated that idea. 

At two in the morning, the place was nearly empty. Coming off the elevator in the Records department, Vic called out "Hello?" 

The sound echoed through the space. Other than a room with a large table and a couple offices along one wall, the level was a single large room broken only by row after row of library type shelving. Dim lighting hid the ceiling, leaving the feeling that it was far over head. 

The one time that Vic had tried to find something on his own, he'd discovered that there was no apparent order or labeling of material. Since then, he'd let Nathan and his staff find him what he wanted, although he had no idea how they managed to do it. 

"What a coincidence," Careena said, emerging silently from behind a set of shelves. "I was just about to call you, Vic." Mac, she ignored. 

Vic felt a surge of hope. "Tell me you've got something for us," he pleased. 

"Oh, I've got plenty for you. All you have to do is ask," she said coyly. Behind him, he could hear Mac growling softly. He might have convinced Mac that he wasn't going to run out on him, but it didn't stop the younger man from acting jealous. At least he _thought_ it was an act. 

"Down boy," Careena told Mac before turning her attention back to Vic. 

Vic rolled his eyes at their antics. "Do you have anything related to the case?" he clarified 

"As a matter of fact, I do, and it's going to blow your mind." She swept past, heading for the conference room. She didn't look back to make sure they were following. 

"The police reports on the victims from the various cities said that some of their homes and studios had been searched," she said once they were sitting down. Her lecturing posture was disturbingly reminiscent of the Director. "At the time, nothing seemed to be missing. Well, that might not be exactly true." 

"Is this going somewhere?" Mac asked, impatient as always. 

Careena glared at him, not that Mac seemed to care. "Turns out that Kyle Macklin, one of the first victims in Victoria, was working on a sculpture just before his death. The wax model turned up at a friend's studio, where he was getting ready to make the mold for a bronze." 

She picked up a control and pressed a button. The lights went out and an image was projected against the one clean, white wall. 

It was hard to tell from the image how tall it was, but a helpful legend said it was two feet. It depicted a young woman in a seated position. She was nude, but her bent legs and the arms wrapped around her breasts made it discrete. Her face was turned upwards, her shoulder-length hair falling back. 

It was difficult to be sure, considering the size of the wax figure and the angle of the camera, but the resemblance was obvious. 

"LiAnn," Vic said softly. 

"That's what I thought, so I did some checking," Careena said. "I couldn't get anything definite, but there's a rumor going around that LiAnn hasn't been heard from since she got to China, but that the higher-ups are keeping it quiet." 

"You got a copy of that picture?" 

In answer, the blonde researcher pushed several eight by ten black and white photos showing the figure from different angles across the table. Vic took them as he stoop up, carefully keeping himself under control. "C'mon, Mac." 

He headed out the door, striding towards the elevator. He could hear Mac trotting to catch up with him, but didn't slow down. 

"Where are we going?" Mac asked as he came up beside him. 

"To find the Director. This," he shook the photo, "combined with Hamilton's portrait is too much coincidence. It's time we found out where LiAnn is." 

* * *

The conference room on the main level was empty. Vic slapped the photos down on the long table, then started pacing. When the Director didn't appear in short order, he headed for the stairs to her private rooms. 

"I wouldn't do that if I was you, Sport." 

Vic spun to find Dobrinsky at the main entrance, casually leaning against the doorframe. "We need to talk to the Director," he said. 

"She's busy right now. Come back later." 

Vic's jaw clenched, along with his stomach. "What the hell is going on, Dobrinsky? Why is she avoiding us?" 

Dobrinsky shrugged, a bland smile on his face. "Why would she be avoiding you?" 

"You tell me," Vic said through clenched teeth. The Director might like to play mind-games, but this was more than that. "Why haven't we seen her since the night Cash was here?" 

"Did you ever think that she has more important things on her mind?" 

"More important that a serial killer loose in _her_ town?" Vic asked in disbelief. Dobrinsky just looked back at him. 

Vic shivered suddenly. If there _was_ something more important, and not just the Director jerking their chains for her own reasons, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Once he was sure that he wasn't going to blow up, he opened his eyes again. "Okay. Fine. If the Director isn't available, can you answer some questions instead, then?" 

Dobrinsky finally moved into the room and sat down at the table in the Director's usual seat and folded his hands in front of him. "Shoot," he said. 

Vic gave Mac a warning glance before he could say something clichéd and stupid. He knew Mac well. "You know about the portrait we found in Corinne Hamilton's apartment," he said. Dobrinsky nodded, but stayed silent. 

"At the time," Vic said, sitting down as well, "we thought that we might be dealing with a shape-shifter that was disguising itself as LiAnn, especially considering what Cash told us." 

"And your point would be?" Dobrinsky asked. 

Vic pushed the photos towards Dobrinsky. The man picked them up and studied them with a slight frown. Vic had a flash of déjà vu, remembering the same expression on the Director's face when she'd examined the portrait. "And?" the man said. 

"That is the work of one of the first victims we've traced so far. In Victoria." Dobrinsky expression gave away nothing, but Vic had the feeling that the man knew exactly what he was getting at. Dobrinsky could be a sadist at times, but he was no fool. 

"A shape-shifter pretending to be LiAnn makes sense in Toronto," he said, since Dobrinsky obviously wanted him to spell it out. "But why in Victoria? There's no reason. So. I want to know. Where. Is. LiAnn?" 

Dobrinsky sat silent, considering the picture. The only sign of disquiet was the fingers of one hand drumming against the table top. That small movement spoke volumes for the man, and Vic didn't like what it was saying. 

Finally, Dobrinsky pushed the pile of photos away in a decisive gesture. "We don't know," he said simply. 

Those three words echoed in the room. Vic's jaw clenched. But before he could explode, Mac did it for him. 

"You don't _know_?" Mac moved forward, his normally brash manner gone, leaving a pure predator in its place. An angry predator. "What the fuck do you mean, you don't know?" 

"I mean, we don't know," Dobrinsky said, standing up. The fact that he was shorter than Mac didn't stop him from towering over the younger man. His eyes were flashing a warning, but Mac wasn't listening, so Vic grabbed his arm to restrain him. 

"What _do_ you know, then?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. One of them was going to have to be the voice of reason, and it looked like he'd been nominated, even though he wanted to rage at the senior agent himself. 

Dobrinsky moved around the table to face them and leaned back against the polished surface. He folded his arms over his chest and seemed to be considering how much to tell them. "She called after she arrived in Beijing and again when she reached her family's village," he said. "That's the last we heard from her. She was _supposed_ to contact us every week." 

"You haven't heard from her in more than five months, but you never bothered to tell _us_?" Mac's voice was dangerously calm and his eyes were molten silver. Vic knew the warning signs when he saw them and hung on tighter. "What are you doing about it?" 

"There's nothing we can do," Dobrinsky shot back. "We have no way of operating in Asia. Until she contacts us, our hands are tied." To his credit, he sounded as frustrated about it as Vic felt. 

"The only thing is," Vic said, nodding to the photos, "she might not _be_ in Asia anymore. She might be right here in Toronto." 

"Then maybe you should be out finding her, not arguing with me," Dobrinsky said. 

Mac growled, but Vic dragged him from the room before he could do something really foolish that might get him killed. 

As soon as they were out in the hallway, Mac pulled out of his grip. "I don't believe this," he muttered to himself as he started pacing back and forth fast enough to make a human dizzy. "I don't fucking believe this." 

Suddenly he stopped, just long enough to punch his fist into one of the concrete walls. Then he went back to pacing. 

Vic winced in sympathy, even though Mac didn't even seem to notice the pain he must be in. Kindred strength and Kindred healing didn't stop something like that from hurting like hell, but Mac was too lost in his anger to even notice that he was bleeding and had probably broken bones as well. 

"Mac..." Vic started to say, then broke off when his partner spun around. 

"Don't!" Mac vibrated in place. "Just... don't. I know you loved her, but she was my sister for five _years_ before we became lovers. And now _he_ ," he gestured towards the doors to the meeting room, "says that she's been missing for nearly half a year and that there's nothing they can do? They should have _told_ me!" 

"And what would you have done?" Vic asked "Gotten on a plane to China?" Of course, it was what _he_ would have done, cryptic warnings aside, but he was still trying to play the voice of reason. Besides, he didn't have a price on his head in China. Mac did. 

In a way, trying to deal with Mac's anger was helping keep control of his own. He might not have known LiAnn as long as Mac, but he still loved her. Perhaps not in the marrying way he had once—he'd long since realized that they made better friends and partners than lovers—but the old feelings were still there. And of course there was basic loyalty. He was just as angry that they'd been left out of the loop, even if they still wouldn't have been able to do anything. 

Mac stopped suddenly in the middle of the empty hall. "I have to get out of here," he announced to the air in general, sounding a little desperate. 

"Mac?" 

Mac shook his head. "I just... I need to get away from this." He started to back away. 

Vic was getting worried now. Hell, he was more than worried. He'd promised Mac that he wasn't going to leave him, but he now realized that Mac had never promised him the same. 

He must have made some sort of sound, since Mac suddenly stopped his retreat. He moved in quickly to kiss Vic hard, then stepped away again. "Just give me a few hours alone, to get my head screwed on right," he said, sounding slightly calmer, less wild, although his eyes still glowed silver. "If I can't make it home before dawn, I'll call. I promise. Okay?" 

Mollified slightly by the promise, Vic nodded, although still a little reluctant to let Mac out of his sight. He was worried that the younger man would do something stupid. 

Mac blew him another kiss, then turned and ran. 

Vic slumped back against the concrete wall with a sigh, staring at the bloody smear left by Mac's punch. Part of him wanted to chase after Mac. Part of him wanted to start hunting for LiAnn, find out if she was in town, what had happened to her and why she hadn't contacted them. But the largest part of him wanted to got out a find a fight. The Beast demanded it. 

But he wasn't the Beast. He controlled the Beast, not the other away around, he told himself over and over again. 

So, instead he straightened up and headed down the hall in the opposite direction from the way Mac had gone, heading back down to records to start the search for anything that might be related to LiAnn. As he went, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and punched in Jackie's number so that he could bring her up to date. 

At least they had a new line of investigation. 

* * *

  
Fandom/Series: John Woo's Once a Thief/Vampire: The Masquerade   
Title: Never the Twain   
Author/Pseudo: Lianne Burwell   
Series/Sequel: Book Three of Carpe Noctem   
Other Webpages: http://www.squidge.org/~lianne   
Series Summary: Mac adjusts to his new life, while a heat wave brings a series of murders to Toronto and a familiar face returns.   
I don't own the characters or the world. They are owned respectively by Alliance, Aaron Spelling and White Wolf Games. However, the story is my own invention.   
My other fanfic, including Always a Thief stories, can be found at: http://www.squidge.org/~lianne   
April 2001   
---


	6. Book III: Never the Twain 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.

**Never the Twain  
by Lianne Burwell  
**

Carpe Noctem Book Three 

  
**Chapter Eight**

Mac stared down at the body lying at his feet, his chest heaving, even though he wasn't drawing in any air. The last few minutes were still pretty hazy, tinted red with blood. 

He easily remembered leaving the Agency on foot after the confrontation with Dobrinsky. He knew that under the circumstances, driving wasn't a good idea. Instead, he'd run. Run until he actually started to sweat. Run until he'd finally managed to leave the anger and fear behind, at least for the moment. 

Then he'd slowed down and taken in his surroundings, only to find himself in one of the worst areas of town. The police weren't willing to go there, even in pairs. If they had to respond to a call—not very often, if only because no one in the area would want to get involved with anything, especially the police —they came as a squad. 

Anyway, it definitely wasn't a place he wanted to be, so he'd headed for the quickest way out. That was when the moron on the ground had decided to try to hold him up with just a knife. 

Suddenly the would-be mugger groaned, and shifted slightly. Mac shuddered and said a quiet thanks to God—any god—even though he'd been an atheist since being a child alone on the streets of Hong Kong. He'd killed before, but only in self-defense or the line of duty, so to speak. The idea that he might have killed someone just out of anger was... terrifying. 

The man had moved up to whimpering now, trying unsuccessfully to curl up into a ball. His clothes were stained, and even to Mac's untrained eye, one leg was obviously broken. He was bruised and battered, which went along with the scrapes on Mac's knuckles. The man needed a hospital, but if Mac called for an ambulance, he'd be asked questions he really didn't want to answer. As for taking him to a hospital himself, that was an even worse idea. 

Fidgeting in place in indecision, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the cell phone he'd forgotten was still in his pocket rang. It sounded obscenely loud in the silent alleyway. 

He fumbled and nearly dropped the tiny tech toy before finally managing to unfold it and bring it to his ear. "Ramsey," he said, his voice impressively steady, he thought. 

"You really managed to do it this time, didn't you, Sport?" 

Mac hissed, and spun around. He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean much. The Agency seemed to have eyes everywhere. "Dobrinsky?" This time his voice squeaked. 

"Leave him. We'll take care of it. Go home, Ramsey." 

The phone went dead before he could ask just what taking 'care of it' would entail. Maybe that was just as well, since he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It could mean dropping him at a hospital, sending an ambulance, or just slitting his throat. Knowing the Agency, all three were equally likely. 

And home was sounding better all the time. If nothing else, the fight had drained away the last of his anger, leaving him just feeling tired. He wanted to go home and cuddle his lover. 

As he headed away from the alley and the injured thug who was now moaning continuously, he swallowed hard. The taste in his mouth made his stomach clench, and he twisted just in time to try to empty his stomach against the side of a wall. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the dark smears in the tiny amount he did bring up. 

Blood. 

Suddenly, the memory of sinking his fangs into his attacker's throat was crystal clear. The taste of that blood, tainted by things he didn't even want to try to identify, was enough to make him heave again, even though nothing came up. 

He was shaking again. In the time since Kata had sunk her fangs into _his_ neck, the only person he'd fed directly from was Vic. Other than that, he'd stuck to the Agency-supplied baggies. Now, he felt no better than Kata. Was this what he was going to come to think of normal people as: prey and outlets for rage? And what would Vic think? In a weird way, it felt like he'd cheated on the man. 

Suddenly, he wasn't so eager to head home, but where else could he go? He'd promised. 

He leaned against the surprisingly cool bricks, uncertain of what to do again. If he went home, Vic would know something was up. The man was surprisingly perceptive, despite his deliberate red-neck act. But if he didn't go home, he'd promised to call Vic, and Vic would know something wrong. Either way, he was screwed. 

Before he could make a choice, the cell phone rang again. 

"Ramsey," he said once he had it open again. This time he was a little more hesitant, not even sure that he wanted to be answering. 

"Ah, good. You're still up," a lightly accented female voice said. Mac frowned, wondering who the hell it could be. The voice wasn't ringing any bells. 

Before he could ask the obvious question, she continued. "I have that information you wanted, Mr. Ramsey. Well, some of it, at least." 

Brain cells started firing, finally supplying a name. "Sofia," he said. It had been less than a week since he'd met her briefly, but it felt like a year. "What did you find out about my mother?" 

"Can you come over? I really would prefer not to do this over the phone." 

Mac looked at his watch, finally registering the time. "It's not that long till dawn," he said reluctantly. 

"I can provide you with a safe place for the day." 

He thought about it for a moment. It gave him an excuse not to go home until he figured out just what he was going to tell Vic. Besides, he really wanted to know what she'd found. 

"All right. I'll be there as soon as I can find a cab." 

* * *

Vic hung up the phone after he got tired of listening to the dial tone. He stood there, not really looking at anything. The apartment was eerily silent, almost depressingly so. He tried pointing out to himself that it was no different than before Mac had moved in with him after his Embrace—Hell, even while they were engaged, LiAnn had insisted on separate apartments, saying she needed her space —but it didn't help. Mac was so energetic that he seemed to fill the rooms, even asleep. Vic hoped that the Director never got around to retrofitting an apartment for Mac. Thankfully, she didn't seem to be in any rush. 

Vic stuck one of his favorite CDs in the stereo to try to fill the void and heated a mug of bagged blood. He took it over to the living room and sat down on the couch. The new files that Careena had supplied him with were spread out all over the coffee table. Hopefully that it would provide some distraction, although it wasn't quite the same without someone to bounce ideas off of. He'd also had a few other ideas after getting home, and had made arrangements with Dobrinsky to implement them. 

Despite his best efforts, his mind kept drifting back to the brief conversation with his partner. The mystery person Mac said was going to track down information on his mother had called and he was going to meet her. He had promised that he had a safe place to hole up for the day, since he wouldn't be home before dawn, then he'd hung up before Vic could ask any questions. 

That worried Vic. In fact, the whole conversation had. He didn't like the fact that he didn't know where Mac was going or anything about this mystery woman his partner was meeting. A more suspicious man would have been paranoid about his lover meeting with a woman, but Vic wasn't that paranoid. Yet. 

But Mac had been hiding something. He could tell. After more than three years working together, Vic knew that little note in Mac's voice that said he was covering his ass. He'd been telling the truth, but not everything. 

And Mac had also hung up before Vic could pass on _his_ bit of news. He picked up the cordless phone and hit redial again while flipping over the page. The phone rang four times, then picked up. 

"Hi! I'm not here. Like, duh. Hopefully I'm out with some really hot hunk. So anyway, leave a message and I'll get back to you. Or not. Bye!" 

Vic hit the disconnect button before the answering machine could start the annoying little tune it used instead of the basic beep. He'd already left a message. He'd also tried Jackie's cell phone and paged her twice. There was still no answer. 

Come to think of it, Jackie's reports all week had been brief, uninformative and not in person. Just that she hadn't found anything definitive, but that she was following a lead. 

Vic let his head fall back with a groan. Ella Fitzgerald's smoky voice filled the room, but it did nothing to sooth him. One partner missing in China, one incommunicado in Toronto and a third keeping secrets and meeting with mystery women. What the hell was he doing wrong? 

* * *

If one more creep tried to pinch her, she was going to go completely postal, Jackie swore. It was so demeaning. What was she, a piece of meat? 

On the other hand, there was a guy over at the bar in leather pants that hugged an ass that just begged to be groped. Any other time, she would have been over there, chatting him up. Unfortunately, tonight was _not_ the time for that. Time was something that was in short supply. 

A quick check of her pager told her that Vic had called. Again. Either something big was going down or he'd finally gotten tired of being blown off. One way or another, she needed something to tell him and soon. But the clubs and bars were about to close, and like every other night, she'd come up empty. No Sanji. No LiAnn. No nothing. 

Crap. 

The music's volume dipped and the lights started to blink, a clear signal that everyone should drink up and get the hell out. Since it was the middle of the week, the place was already half empty. 

Jackie glanced at what was left in her own glass, then pushed it away. It was practically tasteless, like everything other than blood was to her. As well, there wasn't enough left to give her anything approaching a decent buzz, based on what she'd already drunk. Instead, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Maybe if she took her time, she'd get home close enough to dawn to justify not calling Vic until nightfall. 

Outside, it was the same as it had been the last five nights: hot and humid, with the pavement sweating moisture even though it hadn't rained in weeks/ It was almost September, which meant that the weather should be breaking, but the forecasters were calling for the same thing for at least a couple more weeks. The farmers were in Ottawa, already begging for financial aid, and the experts were predicting high food prices come winter. At least Jackie didn't have to worry about that last one. 

She glanced around, then headed north on foot instead of flagging down a taxi. Maybe it would giver her time to figure out what she was going to tell Vic that wouldn't make it sound like she'd been wasting her time or gone crazy. 

She was so distracted by those thoughts that it actually took her a few blocks to realize that she was being followed. 

She wasn't sure what had alerted her, just that suddenly the hair on the back of her neck was all standing up on end. She had to resist the urge to just spin around to see who it was. The streets were pretty quiet—clubbing had become less popular with each murder—but there were enough people around that her stalker could easily disappear into the crowd. Besides, she would look like an idiot, and she hated that. 

Instead, she turned east at the next intersection, heading away from the stream of foolhardy youngsters and towards the quieter residential areas of town. Darkened restaurants and boutiques gave way to equally dark houses. Here and there, a single lit window suggested someone with a case of insomnia. Those few lit windows and the hazy light of the nearly full moon low on the horizon were the only illumination she had. If she'd been only human, she would have been nearly blind. 

Instead, she walked as confidently as if it were high noon, the clicking of her spike heels on the pavement the only sound on the street. Well, almost the only sound. There was something behind her, but it wasn't human. 

No traffic sounds and no more lit windows. If there was ever a time to stage a confrontation, this was it. Jackie's fangs fully extended and she let her fingernails stretch into talons, even though that meant she was going to have to redo her manicure. A minor annoyance. 

As ready as she was ever going to be, Jackie spun around... 

And started laughing. 

"Hello, kitty, kitty," she said, crouching down and holding out her hand, reverting to her regular appearance. She was a little surprised when instead of hissing and running off like most cats would, this little black cat purred and brushed against her hand before sauntering away with that casual sway that only a cat had. 

Still chucking to herself, Jackie stood up and continued on her way. She was being a real nervous Nelly if she was jumping over a little kitty cat. Maybe the job was getting to her. 

Still, it had made a lot of noise for something that small. 

Halfway down the street, she heard sounds from behind her again, only this time it definitely _wasn't_ a cat. 

She slowed down, listening carefully. The soft padding sound _could_ have been made by a cat, but only if it was a jungle cat. Certainly, one a lot larger and heavier than the little kitty she'd just been petting. She stopped 

The sound stopped completely. Silence. Jackie chewed on her lower lip, but didn't turn around. As long as she didn't turn around, she could tell herself that she was still being foolish. Of course, that head in the sand attitude was just as foolish. 

In the end, it was the very female and very familiar laugh that finally made her turn around. 

"LiAnn?" 

* * *

Even though dawn was still a little more than an hour, Mac felt exhausted by the time the cab pulled to a stop in front Sofia's house. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was the fact that his body was still absorbing the blood taken from the creep who'd jumped him. He'd dry-heaved several times since then, but his body wasn't letting go of what he'd taken. 

The front of the house was dark, but he rang the doorbell anyway. He assumed that the woman was still awake, since she was the one who had wanted him to come before morning. 

After a moment, he heard soft footsteps in the hallway on the other side of the door. The door opened, and Sofia smiled up at him. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show," she said in that light, exotic accent of hers. 

Mac shrugged, trying to fight the yawn trying to escape him. "I didn't have my car. It's difficult to get a cab at this hour of the morning." 

Especially in the area of town he'd been in. He'd had to walk ten blocks just to reach a location where a cab company was willing to pick him up. That walk had given him plenty of time to realize just how much of a fool he was, running away like that instead of sticking with Vic. Vic was probably as worried—not to mention as angry—as he was. He had known LiAnn longer, but Vic had intended to marry her. If he'd thought about it, they could have been there for each other, dealing with this latest Agency-caused stress. 

But no, he hadn't. Instead he'd fallen back on old, bad habits, and had run away instead. He'd done it many times in the past. With his father, he'd eventually gone home, wherever home might be at that moment. His dad had rarely noticed he'd been gone, and never worried. With the Tangs, when he ran away, underlings had been sent to find him, bringing him back to stand in front of the Old Man like a naughty little boy to answer for his foolishness. 

Vic, on the other hand, was trusting him to come home, and that gave Mac a warm and fuzzy feeling inside, silly as that was. He supposed that was how you were supposed to feel when you were in love. He'd certainly never felt that way with LiAnn, no matter how much he'd wanted to be in love with her. Suddenly, he wanted to turn around, leave the house, and head home. He wanted to go home to Vic. He even wanted to tell the man everything that had happened after he ran out on the man, although he was a little nervous about the possible consequences. Obviously love played havoc with your common sense. 

But he didn't do it. Much as he wanted to, he wanted to find out what Sofia had found out about his mother more, so he followed her into the house and to the kitchen he'd been in before. It seemed the only room in the house that was lit, a cheery oasis of light in the dark of the night. 

"Tea?" she asked, gesturing to a pot steeping on the counter. It smelled wonderful, but Mac was too tired to play human, especially with someone who knew exactly what he was, so he waved off the offer. She gestured for him to sit down while she served up a cup for herself. 

Mac was starting to feel itchy by the time she joined him at the kitchen table. More and more he was regretting not having gone home. With dawn coming fast, this was going to be the first day he hadn't slept with Vic since his Embrace, and it felt weird. 

"So what have you found out about my mother that you couldn't tell me over the phone?" he asked. 

"Before I say anything, have you figured out anything more about the draba?" 

The question, coming out of left field as it was, threw Mac off. His hand came up to touch the pendant hanging around his neck. "Not really," he said cautiously. "Why?" 

"Your mother's name was Maria Dzabo. She was, indeed, Gypsy, but she was disowned by her family for marrying a Gajo. Apparently her parents intended for her to marry the son of a friend, but she met your father and ran off with him after only knowing him for a week. Terribly romantic, isn't it?" she said with a sly smile. 

"If you say so," Mac said with a shrug, although privately he agreed with her. "So I have family out there that I haven't met?" 

She hesitated. "In a manner of speaking, I guess. They disowned her, struck her name from all family records. As far as they are concerned, she never existed." 

"So they don't even know that she's dead," Mac said sadly. "So what does that have to do with my pendant?" 

Sofia didn't say anything. Instead, she headed over to the kitchen counter and picked up something there. Returning to the table, she placed it in front of Mac, then sat down and picked up her mug again. 

Mac picked up the picture and stared at it. The woman pictured was younger than himself, but her face was very familiar. A slim face, dominated by a pair of large, warm eyes—the picture was black and white, but he knew that they were brown—and a bright smile. Her face was surrounded by a cloud of dark curls. She wore no makeup, but she didn't need to. 

And the only jewelry she wore was a pendant hanging from a chain around her neck. The same pendant that Mac had clutched in his hand at that very moment. 

* * *

"Hello, Jackie." 

Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the other woman's voice. On the one hand, it was the same voice that she remembered, usually sniping at her for some slight, imagined or real. On the other hand, she couldn't ever remember hearing LiAnn speak quite that way. The husky tone of her voice sent shivers up and down Jackie's spine. 

And what the woman was wearing! Or maybe she should say what LiAnn _wasn't_ wearing. After a year of being told that she dressed like a slut—and what was wrong with that?—she was shocked to see the normally prim and proper LiAnn wearing... 

Well, actually it wasn't so much what she was wearing as what she _wasn't_ wearing. LiAnn was wearing a pair of leather shorts and something that seemed to be made up entirely of thin leather straps that just covered enough of her breasts to avoid a charge of public indecency, but just barely. Her hair was slicked back tight to her head, gleaming in the moonlight. The makeup she wore would put a Goth girl to shame. She looked hotter than hell, and that was worrying. 

"See something you like?" LiAnn almost purred, striking a pose that somehow made her legs seem even longer and her tiny breasts more prominent. Jackie's mouth went dry and she felt a surge of heat between her legs. She'd always considered LiAnn attractive in a prim Victorian sort of way, but she'd never had this urge to fall on her back in a bed with her legs open for the woman before. Hell, if she had to she would even pass on the bed 

"How long have you been back in town?" she asked casually, trying to cover up her reaction. 

"Oh, not too long." LiAnn stalked forward, her hips swaying in as feline a way as the cat she'd apparently been a moment earlier. And how the hell had she managed that? "Long enough to know that you're playing with fire," she added, circling around Jackie, trailing a single long fingernail along Jackie's shoulders. "But then, you like playing with fire, don't you?" she said from behind Jackie, then blew a soft puff of air across her ear. 

Jackie actually whimpered at that and was lost. 

* * *

Khalil left Club Z, oblivious to the laughing club-goers around him. He also ignored the fact that lank locks of hair were hanging down in front of his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd showered, and he didn't care. All he cared about was finding the woman who haunted his dreams and his every waking moment, and yet remained so completely elusive. 

His friends were ignoring him. They had tried to tell him to get over it, and he had slammed the door in their faces. They said they were tired of him talking about her, so he stopped talking to them. Instead, he devoted himself completely to his search, ignoring everything else, including the classes that had once seemed so important. 

And yet, despite all his efforts—growing more and more desperate as time went by—she still remained out of reach. He had questioned every bartender in town until they had started pretending not to see him. The club-goers giggle when he asked them if they'd seen her, and the answer was always no. He was beginning to despair. 

A familiar sound broke through the cloud of gloom that seemed to have taken permanent residence above his head. When he looked to the side, he was unsurprised to see the raven there, hopping along the roof of a car. The raven had become one of the few constants in his life the last week, other than his hunt. Every night it showed up to mock him, either on the street or outside his bedroom window. 

And yet, he found himself anticipating its arrival, more and more each night. The raven was the only thing, the only one, who hadn't abandoned him. 

The bird moved from car to car, flapping its wings just enough to make the jump between vehicles. It kept pace with Khalil that way. Or maybe it was Khalil keeping pace with the bird. He wasn't sure anymore. 

Suddenly the bird took flight, heading into one of the dark alleys between the neon-lit buildings. Puzzled, Khalil followed, pulled by the unexpected change in behavior. 

The river of people following the sidewalk parted without comment before him. He stopped in front of one girl, curious, but even though her path swerved to avoid walking into him, she showed no sign of even being aware of him. 

He hesitated briefly at the mouth of the alley, unsure and not quite willing to take that final step into the darkness. 

"Khalil." 

The voice was soft and smooth, and he couldn't see where it came from. Then his eyes widened. Only one woman had ever said his name in that soft but confident purr. He pushed forward and was rewarded with the sight he'd been working towards for the last week. "You!" he breathed, more prayer than statement. 

"Did you miss me?" she asked teasingly, stepping backwards, deeper into the shadows. Her hips swayed, like a serpent preparing to strike. Mesmerized, he followed. 

"How could I not?" he said, reaching for her. She seemed to hover, just out of reach. "I've been searching for you ever since that night. Every night I dream of you. Every day I yearn for you." Relief gave wings to his words, and he almost wished he had pen and paper in hand to write them down. 

"And now, here I am," she said, finally stopping. Her smile flashed bright in the darkness of the alley. 

Khalil took her in his arms, holding her tight against him. Every curve of her body fit against him as perfectly as he remembered. It was as if they were made for each other. Her skin was smooth and cool against his cheek. Her perfume made him think of dark jungles and exotic temples. "Don't leave me again," he begged shamelessly. Tears prickled in his eyes. 

"I promise," she purred in his ear. "We will be together, until death do us part." 

Khalil turned his head, searching for her mouth. Her lips were as sweet as he remembered. 

His knees were weak by the time she started to nibble her way along his jaw to his throat. An alleyway seemed like the wrong place to be doing this, but he couldn't seemed to find his voice to suggest that they go someplace more private, less... sordid. 

She nibbled lightly at the sensitive skin below his ear, and he gasped as sparks shot through him. He could feel her smile against his throat as her hand slipped inside his pants. Her other hand tilted his head back for better access. 

Then he found his voice again, but all he could do was scream. 

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

For a moment, when Mac woke, he had to fight off a feeling of vertigo. The bed he was in was covered with a gingham-print comforter in a pastel color that definitely wasn't his style or Vic's. There were no windows in the tiny room, and the bed was the only piece of furniture, other than the straight-back chair that his folded up clothes were sitting on. 

His dreams had been disturbed, but he couldn't remember the details. He did remember his mother's face looking down at him with a proud expression, clapping her hands as he did... something. He wasn't sure what. It was after that that the dreams turned dark and muddy, full of shouting voices and violent crashes. 

Mac sat up, stretched, and scratched at his shoulder. It was probably just the story Sofia had told him, combined with the violent run-in with the mugger. A young gypsy woman, promised to a man she wasn't interested in, eloping with a handsome stranger she'd just met only to have her family turn their backs on her. Like something out of a romance novel. Of course, knowing his dad, she'd gotten the short end of the stick. 

Nah, that wasn't fair. His dad might have been a conman and a not great father, but he'd loved her. He didn't talk about her often, but Mac remembered a few times when his dad, tongue loosened by liquor, had described her to him. The words he'd used had almost glowed, and the tears in his eyes had been genuine. No, his dad had loved her dearly. Maybe that was why after she died, he never seemed to take anything seriously, least of all his own safety. At least the last time his dad had popped into his life, he'd regained his zest for life, even if he _had_ proved it by sleeping with Mac's boss. 

Mac glanced at the photo sitting on top of his clothes and wondered where his dad was. He'd received a couple postcards, a Christmas card, all of them without a return address, since his visit to Toronto, but that was it. Maybe the next time they ran into each other he'd sit the old man down and have a long, serious talk with him. Maybe. Of course, considering there'd been an eight year gap between the last two times they'd been together, it could be a decade or more before they were in the same room again. 

Carefully setting the picture aside, Mac got dressed. The clothes were wrinkled, and in a few places there were stains that that he shied away from examining too closely knowing exactly what had made the rust-colored spots. Finally as presentable as he was going to get, he left the room. 

The tiny guest room he'd slept in was in the basement of the old house, damp, but reasonably comfortable. It made him wonder just how much contact Sofia had with the world of the Kindred, since not many people put a spare room in the basement. The stair creaked loudly underfoot as he headed up to the kitchen, giving the woman plenty of warning that he was on his way up. 

He found Sofia sitting in the kitchen, sipping on yet another mug of tea. Outside the window he could see the fading red glow of the sunset. The weather still hadn't broken, and the heat was oppressive. The hair of Sofia's bangs were plastered to her forehead with sweat, and he wondered why she insisted on drinking hot tea instead of something cooler. He also wondered why she didn't invest in an air conditioner, but that was a different matter. 

"Good evening," she said, smiling over the rim of her mug. "There's a package of blood in the refrigerator. Help yourself." 

Turning, Mac pulled open the door of the bright yellow appliance. The baggie was right in one of the door shelves. He pulled it out and sniffed it. It was hard to tell through the plastic, but it smelled okay. It also smelled human. He raised an eyebrow. 

"Mugs are in the upper cabinet behind you. If you prefer it warm, the microwave is over there," she said with a wave. 

He followed her directions and pulled out a mug stained by years of use. A nip with his teeth punctured the baggie and he poured it into the mug. He decided to forego the microwave though. 

Out of the plastic, the blood smelled better than good. "I must say, this is the best stocked kitchen I've ever come across," he said lightly, sitting down. 

"Not exactly," she said, the corner of her mouth quirking up, not missing the implied question. "But I have very good contacts, so I arranged to get you some breakfast while you were asleep." 

"Thank you." 

He sipped in silence, after discretely checking to make sure that the blood hadn't been drugged or otherwise tampered with. If it had been, it was too discretely done for him to notice. Then a thought occurred to him. "Did your checking cost you anything? I mean, I can pay you for your time..." She waved him off. 

"All it cost me was a little time. Do not worry. Besides, it is always good to be on a Prince's good side. By helping you, I do that." 

Mac's eyes narrowed. "Princes don't like Ravnos," he pointed out, something he'd heard more than once. As well, he knew he'd never mentioned being associated with the Prince of the city. 

"Unless they work for her," Sofia said, but didn't seem inclined to explain just how she knew that. The hairs on this back of his neck were starting to prickle. He set the mug down. 

"Well, in that case, I really should be going," he said, standing up, trying not to look as nervous as he suddenly was. 

Sofia's dark eyes seemed to be laughing. "If you insist," she said, standing up as well. "But before you go, there's one last thing..." 

Her hand darted out too fast for him to duck, and she had his pendant—draba, she'd called it—held tightly in her fist. Mac shifted slightly, fangs dropping and a low growl in the back of his throat, but she didn't try to yank it away from him. Instead, she closed her eyes and started chanting softly in a language that was vaguely familiar, even though he didn't understand a word. 

For a moment her hands seemed to glow. Then a shock ran up the leather cord holding the pendant around his neck, rocking him backwards, almost knocking him off his feet. 

Almost as quickly as she'd grabbed him, Sofia let go and he staggered back a couple steps until he ran into the counter. The pendant fell back against his chest and he hissed. It felt almost burning hot, even through his clothes. Luckily, that quickly faded, and he tucked it back inside his shirt almost protectively once he thought it was safe to touch. "What the hell was _that_?" he spat. 

"You need to know what that can do, but it is too drained by time and disuse. I simply... recharged it, so to speak." 

She looked a little drained herself. Her skin was pale and there was a faint sheen of sweat on her face, although that was probably the heat. Still, Mac kept his distance. He wasn't sure just how far he trusted her anymore. She knew too much, about him and about his boss. 

After a moment, Sofia seemed to be recovering, and she turned away from him. "I'm expecting visitors in a little bit. You're welcome to stay—" 

"No thanks," he said quickly. "I need to get going anyway. But thanks for the information." 

She nodded. "If I learn anything more, I'll call you." 

"Right." 

Mac quickly drained the mug, then rinsed it out and set it on the drying rack. All of the sudden, he couldn't wait to get out of there, but it didn't hurt to be polite. As soon as he was done, though, he headed for the door. Sofia accompanied him, but stopped at the door. "Watch to see what the draba does, now that it has new power. Call me if you have any questions." 

"Yeah, right." Mac waved and headed down the street at a brisk walk. There was a corner store at the end of the street where he could call for a cab. He could have done that at the house, but he was feeling increasingly uneasy. Something was wrong. 

He had just reached the parking lot of the convenience store and was flipping through the phone book hanging from the pay phone there to find the number for a cab company when his cell phone rang. He let the phone book drop and pulled it out. "Ramsey." 

"Mac, where are you? We've got another one." 

* * *

The sun went down and Jackie woke in slow stages. For a while, she wasn't even sure just where she was, although she quickly realized that she was home, in her own bed. She shifted over onto her side, and groaned as severely strained and well-used muscles made themselves felt. 

That was enough of a surprise to make her eyes fly open. She couldn't remember ever being this sore before, even before her change. Not even this sort of sore. 

Even with Kindred healing, every part of her body was making itself felt, but especially the area between her legs. Shifting again, she heard something roll off the bed and hit the floor, and she had a pretty good idea what it was. Now she remembered the encounter with LiAnn. She also remembered coming back to her apartment with the woman, even though LiAnn had refused to answer any of the questions she'd managed to ask before they'd ended up in bed. Then LiAnn had uncovered Jackie's not so little box of toys, and after that she hadn't had the opportunity to do more than scream. 

Jackie rolled onto her back and stretched, no longer caring about the aches and pains, a big smile on her face. Oh yeah, she'd screamed all right. Especially after LiAnn had taken that strap-on and used it in every possible way, including a few that Jackie had never heard of before. She'd screamed, and she didn't care who might have heard her. She assumed that the item she'd just heard hit the floor was that well used piece of equipment. 

She sat up in bed gingerly and looked around. She was alone in the room. "LiAnn?" she called out. Silence answered her. 

The feeling of sated satisfaction was starting to fade, replaced by a sinking feeling. She left the bedroom to check the rest of the apartment, and wasn't really surprised to find herself alone in the place. She almost might have thought that she'd imagined everything if it weren't for the well-used feeling. 

In the living room she found a piece of paper addressed to her, folded into precise quarters, sitting at the exact center of her glass coffee table. The paper looked like it was handmade, a mottled green in color, and she could swear that the ink had been applied with a brush. She wondered where LiAnn had found the materials for it, since there was no way that she'd hidden a stationary set in the outfit she'd been wearing. 

She picked it up and unfolded it. Down one side of the sheet were delicately drawn Chinese characters. She had no idea what they meant. She could always ask Mac for a translation, but she wasn't sure about that. Not yet. 

The rest of it was, thankfully, in English. 

"You really should be more careful. You never know what you're inviting in. I'll see you again, when you least expect it." There was no signature. 

Jackie was frowning at the note when the phone rang. Still running her thumb over the rough texture of the paper, trying to identify what it was made of, she picked up the phone. "Jackie," she said, sniffing the paper. There seemed to be some sort of perfume on it, but she couldn't identify it. Not quite floral. Definitely exotic. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

The words, nearly shouted in her ear, made her drop the paper. "Dobrinsky?" 

"The security system in your apartment isn't responding, you haven't been answering your phone, and an operative with a key couldn't get your door open. What the hell have you been doing?" 

Jackie recovered the note and set it down next to the phone, shaken. "I don't know. I just woke up." 

"Nearly two hours after sunset?" 

Jackie twisted to see the clock in the kitchen only to find that the man was right. It _was_ well past sunset. "I... I don't know what happened," she stammered. 

"Well, get your ass downtown. We've got another one." 

* * *

Vic pulled up to the curb about three blocks from the crime scene. He would have preferred closer, but he also didn't want to attract undue notice. "Ready?" he asked Mac. 

Mac finished tucking his shirt tails into his pants. He'd asked Vic to bring him a change of clothes when he picked him up, and had proved himself amazingly flexible by changing in the car while Vic was driving without attracting more than the occasional second glance from people passing by. Of course, it helped that his new car had tinted windows that kept anyone from getting a good look in. 

Mac hadn't said why he needed a change of clothes, though. The wrinkles were expected, since he'd been wearing them for more than a day, but there were a few stains that made Vic's nose twitch. 

There was also something else hanging around the man, something electric. The air around nearly crackled with it. Whatever it was, it actually seemed to be interfering with the radio, resulting in only static. Vic had finally given up, shutting it off. 

"So, what do we know?" Mac asked. 

"Not much. The kid, Khalil Armen, was a student at U of T taking evening classes during the summer. He's been ditching classes lately. According to what his friends told the police, they haven't seen much of him lately. Apparently he went gaga over some girl. Was even writing poetry about her." 

Mac nodded. "The arts link. Do we know anything about the girl?" 

Vic snorted in disgust. "Not really. The cops didn't bother getting a description. The friends never met her, didn't know her name, so they didn't bother asking any further." 

Mac rolled his eyes. "Even I would know enough to ask them if he'd described the girl to them." 

"Yeah, but would you really consider a girl to be a suspect if you were a cop?" Vic had to point out. 

"Of course not. But what if he was with her before he got killed? She might be a witness. She might be a potential victim." 

"That would have been my take, but not everyone thinks that way," Vic said. What he didn't say was that he wasn't surprised by the lapse. Even back when he'd been a cop, he hadn't exactly been the standard. 

They headed down the block to the main strip. It was only an hour past sunset, a faint glow still in the western sky, but the neon lights were flashing and the music was blaring. He did notice, though, that the people—mostly in their late teens and early twenties—were walking in even larger groups than before. He also noticed several cops moving along the sidewalks, but he ignored them. 

The alley where the body had been found was a little way from the main strip. It was still blocked with yellow crime-scene tape. He could have jumped it easily, but the chances of being notices were too high. Instead, they stopped at the mouth of the alley and looked. 

Mac's nose was wrinkling. They could both smell the slightly rancid tang of dried blood and fear, and underneath it, something else. Something... Vic shook his head. For a moment he smelled something dead. Long dead. But not quite dead. Something definitely not human. 

"Let's go," he told Mac, heading back towards the strip and the clubs. 

The police report that the Agency had accessed said that the YooHoo! was the last place Khalil had been seen. They had to pay a cover charge to get it. Once inside, they made their way to the bar. At a club, the people who were going to know everything were the bouncers and the bartenders. The bar was going to be the best place to start. 

Vic waved over the bartender and ordered them a couple a drinks that they probably wouldn't taste. When the kid—he looked barely old enough to drink the liquor he served—brought them over, Vic showed him his PI license. The kid didn't look impressed. 

"You know anything about the kid killed last night?" Vic yelled over the din of the music. Next to him, Mac was restraining himself. Mac loved to dance. Vic wasn't about to tell him, though, that he was a pretty lousy dancer. Whatever made him happy. 

"I don't talk to anyone but the police," the kid said, his jaw sticking out belligerently. 

"I just want to..." The kid turned his back on him. 

"Any ideas?" Mac said. 

"Maybe a bouncer." 

Mac snorted. "They're probably all under orders not to talk to anyone." 

"Maybe, but we better try." 

Unfortunately, the bouncer wasn't any more help. Vic was starting to get frustrated. Finally, he headed for the back hall where the bathrooms were. There, he called Dobrinsky. 

"You got anything yet, Sport?" were the first words out of Dobrinsky's mouth. 

"Hello to you too. Nothing yet. We're being stonewalled. I don't suppose the Director has anything to do with a club called the YooHoo?" He winced as he spoke. It was probably the stupidest name he'd ever heard for a club. 

"As a matter of fact, yes. The owner is Kindred. Give me a couple minutes, and I'll see what I can do." 

The line went dead, and Vic put the phone away, making a note to recharge it as soon as he got the chance. It was getting a little low. "Kindred owner," he told Mac who was waiting with a curious expression. 

Mac blinked. "That's convenient. I wonder how many other clubs are connected like that." 

Vic glanced around. The killings might have thinned the crowds, but there were still plenty ready to go out and party. Night clubs were prime hunting grounds. "Probably quite a few," he said as an over-ripe young woman winked at him. If he'd been inclined, he could have had her in the back alley, his fangs in her neck, before she realized she was in trouble. No wonder a Kindred would own a place like this. 

They made their way back out to the bar where the bartender continued to ignore them. After a few minutes, a well-dressed man, his bearing almost screaming 'not human,' emerged from a back office and held a quite conversation with the kid, nodding towards Vic and Mac. After he left again, the kid came over, a sour expression on his face. "What do you want to know?" he asked grudgingly. 

"Khalil Armen was in here last night." 

The kid rolled his eyes. "Yes, he was." 

"Was he with anyone?" 

"Hell, no. He's been making a nuisance of himself the last week, in every few nights, looking for some girl." 

"Who was she?" 

The kid shrugged. "Hell if I know. Some chick he met, fucked, then couldn't find again." 

"Did he describe her?" Vic asked, feeling a little exasperated. 

"Tall, oriental, knock-out. Like I'd recognize her from that." 

Vic thought about it for a moment, then pulled a picture of LiAnn out of his pocket. "So she might look like this?" 

The kid glanced at the picture, and his eyebrows went up. "Maybe. If it is her, he's not the only one looking for her." 

That caught him off-guard, and he exchanged glances with Mac. "Really? Who else is looking for her?" 

"Some girl. Short, blonde, really stacked. Talked like an airhead, but who cares when she looks like that?" 

Vic's eyes narrowed. "Thanks," he said, and slid over a twenty. The kid sneered, but he made the bill disappear quickly. 

They made their way out of the place quickly. Vic's ears were ringing, and it felt like he was listening to the world through a cotton plug, but the feeling quickly faded. "So," he said to Mac. "We can tentatively connect the new victim to LiAnn or a look-alike." 

"And Jackie's looking for her too." 

"Right." Vic pulled out his cell, but the battery light was flashing. "Shit. Can I borrow your phone?" 

"Sure." Mac pulled his out of his pant pocket and handed it over. 

Vic dialed Jackie's number from memory. It rang three times, then was picked up. "Hello?" Jackie sounded unusually tentative. 

"It's Vic. We need to talk." 

"Ah, I..." 

"Now, Jackie. About LiAnn." 

"All right," she said, sounding resigned. "We probably should do it in person. Where do you want me to meet you?" 

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

There was a parking space right behind Vic's car, conveniently enough, and Jackie pulled into it. Vic and Mac were waiting for her, and Vic didn't look happy. He was leaning against the side of his car, his arms folded over his chest and a dark expression on his face. Mac looked pretty grim too. She'd known this moment would be coming, but she'd really hoped to have more to tell him when it came. 

"Hey guys," she said brightly, getting out of her car. She got along well with Vic, and Mac was kind of like the brother she'd never had, assuming you forgot about little details like the time she'd slept with him. Incest was definitely not her thing. "What's up?" 

"Other than another death?" Vic said in a calm tone that was setting off her flight instincts. 

"Um, yeah?" 

"We asked around at the club that the victim was at last night. He was looking for an oriental woman. When we showed them a picture of LiAnn, the bartender recognized it." 

Jackie straightened up. "He'd seen LiAnn?" 

But Vic was shaking his head. "No, but he'd seen a stacked blonde with a picture looking for the same woman. So, Jackie. Why are you looking for LiAnn?" 

Busted. Jackie sighed, and sat down on the still warm hood of her car. "Because I've seen her." 

She spent the next ten minutes telling them everything, starting with the sighting of someone she thought was LiAnn long before the killings ever started. She then went on to describe her attempts to locate the woman, the mysterious phone message, the security system failures, the suspicious Sanji, and her run-in with LiAnn the previous night. 

"You had sex with LiAnn?" Mac said in disbelief, unsurprisingly focusing in on the last part. 

"The best I've ever had," Jackie teased. And it had been, which was pretty damned weird in itself. 

Mac seemed to think so too. "But... LiAnn is _straight_ ," he protested. "She told me once that two women together was... icky." 

"Are you sure it was LiAnn?" Vic broke in. 

Jackie shrugged. "It looked like her, sounded like her, smelled like her. Sort of. I mean, she didn't smell exactly the same, but close enough. But she sure didn't act like her. And what she was wearing—" Jackie waved a hand to fan herself. "I mean, she was dressed totally hot. Leather, and not much of it." 

"Which _really_ doesn't sound like LiAnn," Mac said, a stunned expression on his face. 

"Tell me about it," Jackie said. "But I'm sure it was her. Don't ask me to pin down why, but I'm sure." 

Vic was frowning, but this time he was thinking, not pissed. "But if you saw her for the first time a couple months ago, then she wasn't in the other cities when the killings happened. At least, not the last few." 

"Unless she's commuting," Mac pointed out. The look that Vic shot him said he wasn't in the mood to joke around. "Fine. Well then, maybe she was in the cities, but the killer followed her." 

"We've got several of the victims linked to her, possibly sexually," Vic said thoughtfully. "If she didn't kill them," he ignored the protest from Mac, "and someone else did, then that someone is following her, targeting people she encounters." 

"There was a theory about shape-shifters," Mac said, making Jackie's ear prick up. "Maybe the killer wants to make people _think_ it's LiAnn?" 

"Stalking and a frame job?" Vic said. "It's a working theory. It's certainly as good as we've got so far. Of course, it still leaves us in the same position: Looking for LiAnn and for the killer." 

"Hello," Jackie said, raising her hand. "And what about Sanji?" 

"What about him?" 

"Well, duh. He's really weird, I don't remember what happened while we were together, although I apparently told him I was a secret agent, he wanted me to go off with him, and no one at the club remembered seeing him with me. It's all just a little too weird for a coincidence," she said. 

Vic looked a little dubious, and Mac... Jackie stared at Mac. For a moment it looked like he was having a seizure or something. His entire body went stiff and his eyes rolled back in his head. Then the moment passed and he sagged against the side of the car. In fact, he might have hit the ground if Vic hadn't caught him. 

"You okay, Mac?" Jackie asked, moving forward. Vic was asking pretty much the same thing. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. And she's right. This Sanji guy is key." 

"Huh?" Jackie was just as puzzled as Vic by the statement. 

Mac straightened up, adjusting his clothing. He looked a little pained, but at least he was steady on his feet. Jackie couldn't remember ever having seen the man that shaken for no apparent reason. Hell, even when he did have reason, he tried to keep from showing it. 

"Please, trust me on this," Mac said to Vic. He was rubbing his collarbone with one hand, like he'd been hit or something. 

Vic looked hesitant, then nodded. "Fine. Jackie, you go back to the Agency and do up a description of this guy. I think we've gotten to the point where we need more bodies on this. We'll get Dobrinsky to assign a few operatives to go around, see if they can find this Sanji person." He still didn't sound sure, but at least he was going to do it. 

* * *

"What's going on, Mac?" Vic whispered hoarsely to his partner. Mac still looked like a strong breeze could blow him over. 

"I..." Mac stopped and shook his head. "It's hard to explain." 

"Will you try?" Vic felt a little guilty about asking, but Mac was behaving very strangely. Of course he wasn't the only one. LiAnn definitely wasn't acting like herself, from the sound of it, and Jackie was looking a little strange too. In a way, he was still in shock at the idea of the Jackie and LiAnn... 

"I'll do my best." But Mac still sounded hesitant. 

Vic used Mac's cell phone to call Dobrinsky to ask for the extra manpower. The Director's right hand man was a little reluctant to agree, but the fourth death was upping the pressure. If they were going to find LiAnn or this Sanji, they needed more bodies. As well, there was the other matter, and the answer had been better than he could have hoped for. 

After he hung up, one thought finally occurred to him. "You slept with LiAnn." 

Jackie rolled her eyes. "Like, can we get over that? Yes. I did." Vic's eyebrows went up. He could almost swear Jackie was blushing, and Kindred didn't blush. 

"And from what we know, so did at least three of the victims," he pointed out. 

Mac, at least, was picking up on what he was saying. "If the killer is going after LiAnn's... um..." He looked as uncomfortable about the idea as Vic was. "Well, that kind of paints a target on Jackie's back, so to speak." 

The shocked expression on Jackie's face said that she hadn't considered that possibility. "So, what? I'm a target now?" 

"It's a possibility," Vic told her. 

She seemed to be thinking it over. Finally she nodded. "Good," she said decisively. 

"Good?" Mac said, his eyebrows just about hitting his hairline. "You call being next in line for... that," he waved in the rough direction of where the latest victim had been found, "good?" 

"Yes, I do," she shot back. "Because if nothing else, I can be bait." 

It wasn't an idea that Vic was comfortable with, but she was right. "Starting as soon as you get back to the Agency, you wear a locator and a wire, twenty-four, seven. Got it?" 

"Hello. If LiAnn can muck with the Agency security systems, what makes you think those will do any good?" 

"Maybe they won't, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. I mean it, Jackie. No unnecessary risks. Got it?" 

She looked like she was going to protest, but she finally sighed, and nodded. "All right. No unnecessary risks. I wear the wire. I wear the locator." 

"And if you get any more phone calls, you let me know. None of this keeping secrets anymore, right?" 

"Right." 

"Good. That gives us a backup plan. In the meantime, I had a thought last night. If the killings take place in the alleys where the bodies are found, then why don't we stake them out?" 

Both Jackie and Mac were looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. Mac was the first one to put the thought into words. "Staking them out would take a lot of people. Really obvious people." 

"Unless you did it with cameras. I told Dobrinsky to set cameras in every alley in the area. Apparently, they actually made it as far as this particular alley _before_ the kid's body was found, so we might actually have the killing on tape." 

"Cameras..." Mac muttered to himself, then smacked his forehead. "Why the hell didn't we think of cameras before?" he said a little louder. 

Vic shrugged. He'd done all his self-recriminating the night before when the idea had occurred to him. What really surprised him was that their camera-happy boss hadn't thought of it first. Of course, the Director was also acting a little strange, when they could find her, that is. The whole bit with Cash showing up, and giving Vic permission, sort of, just to leave, was weird. Sure, she would have known that Vic would say no, but still, it was a risk. And now she was refusing to even see them. In fact, right now, that was his biggest question. 

Where the hell was the Director? 

* * *

Two men and one woman climbed into their cars and drove away, and McKenzie emerged from the shadows. As soon as he'd heard that another body had been found, he'd known that Mansfield would show up on the scene, so he'd waited. The only thing that surprised him was that he'd had to wait until after dark for the man to show up. He should have expected that, though. Scum only came out at night 

The woman was a surprise, though. The pretty boy who'd been with Mansfield before was obviously the man's bitch, so why the woman? Of course, the way she'd dressed, she was probably a whore too. He'd heard about the types Mansfield prefer to associate with. He was going to enjoy taking care of both the sluts out. Them first, then Mansfield. 

McKenzie turned and walked away, heading for his own car. All he needed was the opportunity to strike. And when the time came, he knew a few others who would love to be in on it. 

Oh, yeah. Mansfield was going down, going down hard. And this time he wasn't going to be going to jail just to get out again. 

That gleeful thought was so distracting as he walked that he didn't even notice when a piece of shadow detached and followed him. 

* * *

The three of them were clustered around the TV set in one of the media rooms, watching the feed from the security recorders. The image on the screen was black and white, grainy the way that all footage from security cameras tended to be. The angle was also awkward, and Mac distracted himself for a moment by trying to figure out where the camera had been placed. He also couldn't help wondering just _who_ had placed the cameras so quickly if Dobrinsky was bitching and complaining on putting more agents to work canvassing the bars for their two targets. 

But the mental exercise didn't distract him for long. Vic was still giving him strange looks, and he wasn't sure what to tell the man. His hand snuck up to touch the pendant tucked safely inside his clothing. He wasn't sure what the hell Sofia had done to it, but he was sure it was the cause of what had happened. 

His skin still twitched at the memory. Vic and Jackie had been arguing over whether or not finding the Sanji guy she'd met was important to the case, when he'd felt like he'd been hit by lightning, or something. He'd barely managed to keep from collapsing. 

And the shock had been accompanied by a flood of images, short and disjointed, most of them gone before he could even take them in. A few stood out, though. Jackie and LiAnn, Jackie and some Indian looking guy, LiAnn and a kid—their victim, he guessed. And then a final lingering image of the Indian guy, blood dripping from his hands and mouth, eyes glowing an eerie red, bodies at his feet, and something hovering behind him that made Mac think of all the stories he'd ever heard of hell. 

Mac shuddered at the memory. The man had stared straight at him, then smiled before reaching down and picking up one of the bodies. The kid had turned out to still be alive, and had screamed as he was tossed towards the... thing behind the man and vanished. The guy's face had wavered, first Cash, then Vic, then the Indian face again. Then the man, Sanji for lack of a better name, had walked towards him, his body shifting and twisting until it was LiAnn reaching for him, dragging him towards the vortex. 

Then Vic had touched him and he had sagged. Jackie and Vic had been hovering over him, looking concerned. All he knew was that this Sanji person was the key, but the last thing he wanted to do was to find him. 

And he still hadn't a clue what the juiced up pendant had done. Was it a vision of the future? Was it even right? Maybe it was just picking up on Jackie's certainty and translating it. He just didn't know, which was going to make explaining it to Vic tricky. And he wanted to do it alone with the man, since he was going to have to explain everything else to him as well, especially if he was going to beat Dobrinsky to the punch. Hell, he was a little surprised that Dobey hadn't already told Vic— the bastard was always making life hell for him—but Vic would have said _something_ if that was the case. 

"Okay, here we go." 

His partner's voice pulled him out of thoughts that were getting darker and darker, drawing his attention back to the screen. There was a figure moving, but it was hard to make out in the shadows. There was something about the way it moved that didn't seem quite right. 

Then it seemed to... shift. The vaguely human shape became more distinct, and definitely female. 

"What time is this?" Mac asked. 

Vic checked the index. "About a half-hour after the clubs closed," he said. 

Then a stray bit of light from the mouth of the alley fell on the woman, and they all leaned forward. 

"Okay, it _looks_ like LiAnn, but there's no way she could have made it to where I was after killing the guy," Jackie said. 

"Shape-shifter," Vic said confidently. 

For a brief moment, Mac was hit by a wave of vertigo. It wasn't the pendant, or anything like that. Instead, it suddenly hit him that just a year ago, the thought of shape-shifters would have had him rolling on the floor in hysterical laughter. Now, it was just a fact of life. 

Then the world steadied and he was able to concentrate on the screen again. 

A little more than a minute after the LiAnn look-alike appeared, someone stopped at the mouth of the alleyway, just barely in the view of the camera. "Our victim?" Jackie asked. 

"I assume so," was the reply. 

The newcomer, a young man, probably still a teenager, stepped into the alley. The brief shot of his face before he was out of the light told them that he was Arab. Since the victim's name was Khalil, it seemed pretty likely that it was him. 

If there were audio pickups, they weren't working, since they could see the kid's mouth moving, but there was no way to tell what he was saying, and the picture wasn't clear enough to get someone to read his lips, especially with his face partially shadowed. But the expression on his face said volumes: Confusion, hope, elation, and more confusion. Whatever the shifter said, it obviously reassured him. A moment later, the kid was in her arms, kissing her passionately. 

Even knowing that it couldn't be LiAnn—at least, he kept telling himself it wasn't her—it was still weird seeing what looked to be his ex in a clinch with a complete stranger, especially one that was about to end up dead. Hell, it had been weird seeing her in clinches with Vic, and she'd been engaged to the man at the time. 

Then there was another one of those weird shifts, and Khalil's head fell back, a horrified expression on his face, his mouth open in a silent scream. No one came rushing to see what was wrong, even though he had to be making enough noise to be heard out on the street. 

Then, thankfully, the boy slumped in a boneless way that implied death. The... thing holding him followed him down. For the next two minutes, they watched as something that _looked_ like their partner calmly dismembered the kid, pausing from time to time to... Ewwww. 

Finally, she stood again, slowly and very deliberately turned to look at the camera, and smiled. Mac recoiled at the expression on her face. The image was so much like his earlier vision that he was dizzy for a moment. Blood dripped from her mouth, which was twisted into terrible, gleeful expression. It was hard to tell, but her eyes definitely seemed to be glowing, and he didn't want to even try to identify what she was holding in her hand. 

Then she dropped it, and there was a twisting, almost a vortex, around her. A burst of static obscured the picture and when it cleared, she was gone, although they had a brief glimpse of something feathered disappearing from view. 

For a moment there was dead silence. "Okay, that was special," Jackie finally said in a shaky voice. 

"That's one way of putting it," Vic said, sounding almost as off- balance. In a way, it was almost reassuring that the man wasn't as casual about this world of darkness they'd been dropped into as he seemed. 

"So, you think that was the Sanji guy you told us about?" Vic said, shaking his head as if to clear it. 

"It is," Mac said, drawing their attention. 

"How can you be sure?" Jackie asked, more in curiosity than disagreement. 

Mac chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then turned and rifled through the drawers of the room's one desk. There wasn't a lot to find, but he did finally find a few sheets of paper in the back of one drawer, and a pencil in definite need of sharpening. 

Art had always been a hobby with him, one that was useful for a thief to develop, and after a couple minutes' work, he handed the sheet over to Jackie. She looked down at the drawing, and flinched. 

Vic looked over her shoulder, then back at Mac. "What is _that_?" he asked. 

"When Jackie was telling us about this Sanji, earlier—You know, when I nearly collapsed?—I saw that." Mac looked around the room, anywhere but at the quick drawing. It was crude, but very definitely recognizable. The image from his vision. "That's him, isn't it?" 

"It's not exactly a photograph, but yeah, that looks too much like him to be a coincidence." 

"You saw it?" Vic pressed. 

Mac glanced around the room, easily picking out the locations where cameras would be hidden. "Later?" he suggested. 

"Count on it," Vic said ominously, although his expression was concerned. 

"So, we've got a shape-shifting assassin running around town killing anyone that slept with LiAnn. Only thing is, we aren't any closer to catching him. Her. It. Whatever," Jackie said, her eyes still fixed on the screen. Despite her earlier calm suggestion that she be bait, she looked a little more nervous now. Mac was glad to see that. Based on what they'd seen, she'd have to be crazy not to be nervous. Well, crazier than the rest of her clan, and they tended to be pretty wacko from what he'd heard. 

"Sanji. LiAnn. We hunt for them. And not just in the clubs. If they aren't human, then they probably need someplace to stay during the day. We need to find that." 

"Shit, that could be anywhere," Mac said. "It's not like they have to stick to hotels." 

"Yeah, but we're running out of options, other than waiting for one of them to find us," Vic pointed out. 

Mac sighed, then frowned. "That might work too. I mean, Sanji's going after LiAnn's... you know." 

Jackie snorted. "That word isn't going to bite you, you know. Lover. Come on, say it." 

Mac reached over and smacked her on the shoulder. "Whatever. Anyway, you're not the only one who fits into that category. We split up and go trolling for a few nights. Ask lots of obvious questions, show pictures, and generally try to attract as much attention as possible." 

"Sounds dangerous," Vic said reluctantly, although he looked like he was considering it. 

"Of course it's dangerous," Mac said, rolling his eyes, even though his stomach was tying itself into knots. "But the three of us are better prepared to defend ourselves that the next poor shmuck who gets caught up in this." 

"Earpieces, mics, and tracers," Jackie suggested, almost pleadingly. 

Vic looked back and forth between them, then finally sighed. "Constant contact," he said in capitulation. "But not until tomorrow night." 

Mac didn't like that, but Vic was right. Between everything, it was only a few hours until the clubs closed. Not enough time to do much. "So what do we do in the meantime?" he asked. "Check the vic's apartment?" Not that it had done them much good up until now. 

Vic shook his head. "The cops will be watching it. No point in going tonight. We'd just attract the wrong sort of attention." 

"McKenzie," Mac said sourly. Vic shuddered lightly, while Jackie just looked confused. "So, what do we do?" 

"I check the police database to see what they found at the crime scene, while the two of you collaborate on a more detailed drawing of this Sanji person. We'll fax it to the police departments in the other cities there were killings, see if there are any sightings. We'll also send it to the Agency office in Vancouver, have them do some checking," Vic said, glancing at Mac with a wry expression that Mac returned. They'd met for the first time, just after Mac was 'recruited' by the Director, in Vancouver. More to the point, they'd met in LiAnn's apartment, after Mac broke in, and they'd tried to beat the crap out of each other. 

Mac still wasn't sure why they'd been moved back to Toronto, though. It would have made more sense to keep them in Vancouver, far from Vic's ex-brothers in blue and closer to his and LiAnn's Asian field of expertise. Instead, even though both Vic and LiAnn had been in Vancouver since their respective recruitments, the moment Mac had been added to the team, they'd been shipped west. Almost like they'd been waiting for him. 

Maybe he'd ask the Director the next time he saw her. She might even answer. 

In the meantime, if he was going to be doing a portrait, he wanted some better supplies for it, and even after nearly three years he didn't have a clue where the stationary cabinet was in this place. 

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Jackie peered over his shoulder and whistled. "Wow. I never knew you were an artist. That's good." 

Mac pursed his lips as he considered the portrait, then added a bit more shading to the area under the eyes. "Maybe, but the question is, would you recognize Sanji based on it?" 

Jackie took the art pad—not something he'd expected to find in supplies, but a welcome surprise, along with the collection of art pencils—from him, looked at it closely for a moment, then nodded. "Yep," she said decisively. "De-fi-nite-ly," she added, enunciating each syllable carefully. Then she reached over and smacked him on the shoulder, not very gently either. "So, since when are you Pablo Picasso?" 

"Please," Mac said in disgust. "Picasso was overrated. And I took art classes as part of my training with the Tangs. Don't want to get fooled by a forgery, after all. I enjoyed them," he added with a shrug 

"Yeah, well you're really good. Totally a second career if you get out of the secret agent business." 

"Like that's ever going to happen with _her_ running the place." 

"Oh, you never know." 

Something about the way she said that made his eyebrows ride up, but her expression said that he shouldn't bother pursuing it: She wasn't going to talk. Jackie might have a reputation as a blabber-mouth, but the Malkavian knew how to keep a secret. Not exactly standard for her clan. 

Didn't stop her from making cryptic hints, though. 

After giving the portrait one last go over, and making a couple final alterations, Mac put the pad face down on a scanner. A minute later, he had a high-resolution image on the screen, ready to be printed out or faxed electronically. He stared at the screen blankly, the eyes of his portrait seeming to glow eerily back at him. The image from the vision he'd had flashed through his mind, making him break out in a sweat. 

Then he shook it off and saved the file. He printed off a bunch of copies for the agents who would soon be scouring the town—discretely, of course. Then he entered the command to start faxing it, along with Vic's cover letter and a photo of LiAnn, to all the police departments with murder cases they thought were related. 

"All done," he told the blonde bombshell, leaning back with a tired sigh. Sketches were one thing. Doing a detailed portrait that they both agreed was easily recognizable took time and effort, and the muscles in the back and neck were feeling the strain. "Think it'll do any good?" 

Jackie blew a lock of hair out of her face, the bright smile fading. "Doubt it. I mean, several months of searching, off and on, and I couldn't find a trace of LiAnn. After the weird stuff started, I started asking about Sanji, and couldn't find anyone who'd seen him, even the bartender who remembered serving me at the bar where I met him. Both of them are turning out to be damn good at covering their tracks. Kinda creepy, in fact." 

Mac laughed. "Creepy? We drink blood, haunt the night, and you call being good at covering your tracks creepy?" He shook his head. "When the hell did my life get so weird?" he muttered to himself. 

"Finally sinking in, is it?" she said sympathetically. 

"What?" 

"I'm kinda surprised it took so long. Me, I was weirded out about a week after I got turned. Vic, him I don't know about. Didn't see him much while he was training with the Gangrel, so who knows when it hit him. But sooner or later it always does. Some can't handle it, and they go for a walk in the sunlight and poof... Instant bonfire. Others can't handle the blood thing and starve themselves to death. Others just go out of their way to piss off an older Kindred and get themselves killed. You've been handling this pretty good." 

"So what did you do?" Mac asked, honestly curious. "I mean, I don't even know how you got Embraced in the first place." 

Jackie sat on the edge of the table with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Not much to say. You guys took me down and sent me to jail, but my lawyer decided to try an insanity plea. I mean, as if," she sneered. Mac wisely didn't say anything. He didn't think that his opinion that the new head of the Janczyk Family had been seriously unhinged would go over well with the woman, even after working together for more than a year. 

"Anyway," Jackie continued, tossing her long hair over her shoulder, "he got them to send me to a nuthouse to be checked out. One of the night guards thought I showed potential, and she Embraced me. Good thing my rubber room didn't have a window. Two nights later, the Director showed up to offer me a job. Not being totally stupid, I said yes." 

"And your Sire?" 

Jackie shrugged. "Not a clue. Never saw her again. I got the same sort of ad-hoc training that you did." They both knew that her Sire was probably dead then, but neither said it. Mac knew, after San Francisco, that if the older Malkavian hadn't gotten permission to Embrace Jackie, her life would have been forfeit. Jackie's life could have been also, but obviously their boss had seen some potential. 

The computer pinged to let them know that it was done. Mac retrieved his drawing from the scanner, then shut down the machine. "So," he said, balling up the portrait and tossing it at the recycle bin in the corner of the room. "What did you do to get past the weirded out stage?" 

Jackie shrugged. "Went for a workout at the gym. Went dancing all night. Picked up guys and got laid without thinking once of feeding. Basically did normal things that I did before, and didn't think about the weird stuff. After a few days, the feeling went away." 

Mac stared at her in disbelief. "That's it? Go out and party until the feeling goes away." 

"Hey, it works. You just need to remind yourself of all the reasons why you want to stick around. Doesn't have to be the same sort of thing, as long as you do _something_. Heck, go home with Vic and fuck him blind, then tell yourself that if you want to be doing the same thing in a year, you have to keep going. It's as simple as that. You need a reason to live." 

Mac thought about it for a few minutes, then nodded slowly. "It makes sense, in a weird sort of way." 

"Which brings up back full circle," Jackie said with a laugh. Then she sobered up. "But going back to the original question, no, I don't think this is going to do any good. We might find a little evidence of Sanji and LiAnn in the other cities, but it isn't going to do us any good for finding them. If I couldn't find them, I don't even think Dobbie's people are going to get anywhere." 

"That's kind of what I expected," Mac said, resting his chin on one fist. The more they investigated this case, the less they seemed to have. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that the more they learned, the more they had to face the fact that traditional investigative techniques weren't going to get them anywhere. When one target could fry Agency security systems from a distance, and the other could change shapes and make sure that no one remembered seeing him, the chances that basic legwork would find them... well, Mac didn't put much hope in them, although he wasn't going to tell Vic that. 

No, their best chances, much as he hated to admit it, was going to be trying to attract this Sanji person's attention. That meant setting someone up as bait. "So, what you going to do now?" he asked casually. 

Jackie stood up and stretched, checking the clock as she did so. "Too late to do much tonight," she said with a pout. "Besides, we've been going non-stop for more than a week now, and I'm exhausted. I thought I'd just go home, relax a bit, catch up on what's going on in the rest of the world. You know, pretend I have a life. Or unlife." 

Mac chuckled. "Sounds like an idea to me," he said. Based on the pattern, they had a few days before finding their killer became urgent again. "But don't forget to pick up your wire and locator before you leave," he said, sounding disgustingly adult to his ears. Since when did he get to be the responsible one? Since Vic wasn't around to say it, he told himself wryly. 

The guilty look on Jackie's face told him that it was a good thing he had. "Okay, okay. Stop one is the toy shop. _Then_ I go home. Happy?" 

"Delirious," he drawled. "And Jackie?" 

She stopped at the doorway, but didn't turn around. "Yeah?" 

"Call before you head out tonight." 

"Fine," she almost spat out. "Are you through being parental, or can I go?" 

"Ewwww. That would be gross. And yeah, have fun." 

She left, but at least she was laughing as she went. Mac slumped back in his seat, staring at the black screen, his mind going deliberately blank. It was a trick he'd picked up from years of martial arts training. It was intended as a way to find inner calm, but right now, it was just a way of avoiding thinking. 

His eyes drifted shut as he slipped from trance to light doze. Daytime or no daytime, he hadn't slept well at Sofia's place, too aware of being in a strange place and not quite willing to trust it. 

As his mind drifted, images teased him. Cats fighting over him, a dream he remembered from the trip to San Francisco nearly a year earlier. Then the cats were gone, replaced by Vic and Katya, the Ravnos that had brutally Embraced him. A dream that had been brought by the draba? 

He opened his eyes and pulled the pendant out. He held it up and examined it carefully from every angle. It looked the same as it always did, a silver color with deep grooves cut into it, dark with something that wasn't enamel, and hadn't come out when he'd cleaned the piece, making a variety of strange patterns that didn't look like anything he'd ever seen. The same thing he always saw when he looked at it. 

And yet, at the same time, it seemed to sparkle a little brighter in the fluorescent lights. The dark spaces deep in the grooves seemed to absorb the light, while the silver... 

Mac shook his head, suddenly realizing that he was well on his way to hypnotizing himself. On the other hand, that gave him an idea. If he could have a vision while standing on the street without trying, what if he tried deliberately? A light meditative trance, while deliberately trying to provoke a vision, maybe even a vision of where they could find their killer. It was a crazy idea, but at this point, anything was better than what they had. Maybe he should call Sofia and ask her for advice. 

"Mac?" 

The unexpected voice jolted him upright in his seat, and he quickly hung the pendant back in place around his neck. For a moment it was warm against his skin, and even felt like it was vibrating ever so slightly. Then it was cool and inert, the same as ever. 

Vic was staring at him from the doorway with a puzzled frown on his face. "Yeah?" Mac said, standing up and straightening his clothes. 

"You okay?" 

"Just peachy. Why?" 

Vic's frown deepened. "Well, for one thing, I stood here for five minutes and you never even noticed. You were just staring into space with a blank expression. And you've been acting strange all night." 

It looked like it was finally time to face the music. "Wanna go for a drive?" 

Vic's eyebrows scrunched up, then he nodded. Mac took a deep breath and stood up. 

* * *

Mac stayed silent through the drive. Vic was starting to get really worried: Mac was _never_ silent. Vic was starting to get really worried. Mac was really weird. Had been ever since this case had started. Or maybe it was more accurate to say, he'd been acting strange since Cash had shown up, which was pretty close to the same thing. Vic hoped it was just that he was brooding over that, or maybe about LiAnn, but he had a feeling that there was more to it. 

Mac obviously didn't want to talk anywhere where the Agency might have ears, and Vic didn't really blame him. Sure, they worked for the Agency, but that didn't mean that he trusted them. Sure, the Director seemed to honestly like them, and she treated them better than most Agency employees, but that didn't mean that she would hesitate for a moment to sacrifice them if it was in the best interests of the Agency or her city. And aside from that, she seemed to delight in spying on them, so it was difficult to keep secrets. 

There was a small park that Vic knew, not too far from downtown. It was too small for most Gangrel, not that there were a lot of them in town. While training Vic for the Director, Moira'd been talking about leaving town with her people. She hadn't liked having the Prince of the city order her around. Having four of her top supporters chased out of town for trying to kill Mac had been the final straw. Two days later, the number of Gangrel in town could practically be counted on one hand, and they tended to stick to the larger green spaces, the ones with wild growth still. 

Vic parked in the tiny parking lot attached to the park and headed over to the play structure. At three in the morning, the place was empty of course. He sat down on one of the swings and waited for Mac to catch up with him. 

Mac took the other swing and started pushing back and forth. For a while, the just hung out, silent. A comfortable silence, the sort you could only have with a brother, a partner, the right kind of lover. 

"I nearly killed someone last night," Mac said softly, breaking through the creak of the chains holding up the swings. It wasn't what Vic had expected to hear. 

"Who?" 

Mac shrugged. "I don't know. A mugger who decided that a guy on foot in the wrong area of town was fair game. I don't really remember much. I was kind of in a haze. Then I came to with him looking nearly dead, and..." he stopped, and when Vic looked over, he thought the younger man was going to be ill. "And blood in my mouth," Mac finally choked out. 

Vic shuddered sympathetically. "That's what you were hiding when called last night?" 

"Yeah." Mac snorted. "Hell, I almost didn't call 'cause I knew you'd know something was up." 

"Then why did you?" Vic asked, curious. 

Mac still wasn't looking at him. "I promised." Then he glanced over briefly, a small smile flickering across his face. "By the time I got to Sofia's, though, I just wanted to go home, tell you everything." 

Mac wasn't looking at him again. His shoulders were hunched, like he was waiting for a blow. A blow from Vic, physical or otherwise. 

Vic chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "What happened to the moron?" he asked. 

Mac twitched slightly. "I don't know. I was trying to figure out what to do when Dobrinsky called me on my cell-phone and told me to leave, that they'd take care of things. I don't know what they did with him after that. He was moving, but his leg was broken, and he was pretty battered." 

"I'll ask Dobrinsky," Vic said, although to be honest, he didn't really care what happened to the creep. He should be shocked, and a year ago he might have been, but right now, all he cared was that the man had attacked his lover, so he got what he deserved. Mac seemed a little more upset about it than him. 

"You aren't disgusted?" Mac asked, sounding surprised. 

"Hell no! He attacked you, not the other way around. He just picked the wrong person in the wrong mood. Besides, if you hadn't pounded him into the ground, he might have gone after someone else, someone who wouldn't do as good a job defending themselves." 

"But I fed off him," Mac protested, although he was finally meeting Vic's eyes fully. 

Vic shrugged. "Mac, what do you think I did during my training?" 

"I thought... I mean, the Director supplies all those bags..." 

That made Vic laugh, a little bitterly. "Do you really think Moira would let me get away with that? Gangrels are hunters, she said. I had to hunt down and kill a meal." Now it was his turn to wait for a reaction. 

Mac's eyes went wide. "What did you do?" 

Vic grinned, and he knew the expression was nasty. "Let's just say that there's a couple less rapists in the city." 

"Wow." 

He was relieved to see that Mac didn't look disgusted. In fact, he looked almost awed. "So, if I killed a rapist, I'm certainly not going to get upset about a mugger. We okay?" 

Mac shook his head, openly grinning now. "Yeah. I feel like an idiot, though, worrying all night about what you were going to think." 

"Well, next time, don't worry until _after_ you talk to me. Okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Good. Well, now that we're all okay, what the hell was going on earlier? Since when do you have visions?" 

Mac took a deep breath, then started to explain. 

* * *

Jackie was in a pissy mood as she left the Agency. She hated wearing a wire; she swore she could feel the damned thing buzzing against her skin. And no matter how many times she'd worn one, the surveillance department insisted on treating her like an idiot who didn't have a clue how to look after the tiny electronic devices. Besides, they ruined the line of her blouse. 

But she'd promised both Vic and Mac, and she was on thin enough ice with Vic at least that she wasn't going to risk not following orders. 

Thing were definitely getting weirder, though. For one thing, Mac was nearly the last person she would have expected to start having mystic visions—Vic would have been the last person. But Mac... Mac was just so... Mac. Of course, she'd never thought of him as the artist type either, but he was damned good. The portrait he'd done was almost like a photograph of Sanji. Too bad it probably wasn't going to do them any good. 

And that was why she felt so damned frustrated. They'd been working every night for a couple weeks now, and they weren't much further along than they'd been at the start. Sure, they had a suspect, but he was impossible to find, and probably impossible to stop, the way things were going. 

Jackie stopped at her car and briefly banged her forehead against the barely cool metal of the roof. It wasn't as good as a brick wall, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment. 

Then the smell caught her attention. Liquid and metal and the slight odor of rotting flesh. Jackie opened her eyes and looked down, through the car window. "Ewwww!" 

She didn't have a clue who the guy sitting behind the wheel of _her_ car was, but he was definitely dead. Of course, that was a no-brainer, since he was missing his throat. She looked a little lower, and her nose wrinkled. Okay, he was missing a lot more than just his throat. It was going to take a _lot_ of cleaning to get the blood out of the upholstery. 

The question, however, was, who was he and what was he doing in her car? 

Jackie pulled out her cell and dialed Vic's number. She could hear it ringing, and she tapped the toe of her shoe against the pavement impatiently. "Come on, boss man. Answer the damned phone," she muttered to herself. 

"It won't make a difference if he does," a voice said from right behind her. 

Jackie whirled around, but before she could react, her cell hit the ground, and she followed it. 

"What's the matter, lovely lady?" she heard as she blacked out. "Don't you like my present?" 

The last thing she heard before she completely lost consciousness was Vic's voice calling her from the cell before it was cut off with a crunch. 

* * *

"Jackie? Jackie!" Vic pulled the cell away from his ear and double-checked the display. It did say that it was Jackie's cell that had called him, and the line was open. But he didn't hear anything from the other end. Nothing, that is, except for a faint noise that sounded like... something being dragged? 

"Shit. I've got a bad feeling about this," he told Mac, heading for the car at a run. Mac drove while Vic kept trying to reach Jackie. By the time they'd reached the car, the connection had gone down and every attempt to call her cell had come back with an error message telling them that her cell was either out of range or not turned on. 

After this, Vic started dialing different numbers. Unfortunately, Dobrinsky had stopped answering *his* phone, although it did ring. The Director also wasn't taking calls. He finally called the surveillance weenies. "Did Jackie Janczyk get wired?" he said as soon as the phone was picked up, before the person on the other end could get a word in edgewise. 

"And hello to you to," an irritated voice responded. "Yes she did. Bitch." The last was muttered, and Vic decided to ignore it for the time being. 

"Well, fire up your equipment and tell me where she is." 

"What, she get lost on the way home?" The tone in the woman's voice was downright nasty, and Vic found himself rolling his eyes, wondering just what Jackie had done to piss her off. Of course, sometimes it seemed that Jackie did that just by breathing. Talent. And looks, probably. 

But they didn't have time for that. "Just do it," he said through gritted teeth. 

"Fine, fine. Sheesh." There was silence for a few moments, other than the clicking of keyboard keys that he could hear easily through the phone. "Well, if she's lost, she did a good job of it. She's out in the parking lot. Shall I send someone to lead her to her car?" The sarcasm almost dripped from her voice. 

"No thanks," Vic snapped, and turned the phone off. "You heard?" 

Mac took a corner at speeds that would have gotten them pulled over if it wasn't the wee hours of the morning. Instead, the streets were deserted, and there wasn't a cop around, so he could drive like a maniac if he wanted, just as long as he got them where they were going as fast as possible. Vic wasn't about to complain. "I heard," the younger man said tersely, not taking his eyes off the road or his foot off the gas. 

It was only a few minutes later that they were screeching into the tiny parking lot outside the Agency office's entrance. There was only one car there — most employees of the organization used public transit and the tunnels that connected the transit system to the Agency's lower levels. It was Jackie's. She and Mac had the same taste in cars, Vic thought to himself. Red and sporty, with no space for more than one passenger. 

Mac pulled into a spot close to Jackie's car, but not too close, and they got out. Almost immediately, the smell of blood and rotting flesh was overwhelming in the warm night air. "Shit," Mac said, walking towards the car, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Vic took advantage of the fact that he didn't really need to breathe "Oh, yuck," Mac said, looking a little green. 

Yuck was a good term for it. The dead man behind the wheel of Jackie's car looked like he'd been dead for the better part of a week. Part of that was the heat, but still, the decomposition was too advanced for it to be natural. Especially since they'd spoken with the man only a few days earlier. 

Vic pulled out the cellphone yet again and hit the speed dial for a number he didn't use much, but which was programmed into all agents' cellphones. "Housekeeping? There's a dead cop on our doorstep. You might want to clean it up." He hung up before the Agency's cover-up staff could protest. They usually dealt with making sure that no one paid to much attention to the Agency's people or equipment. They didn't normally deal with dead bodies, but they didn't have much choice. If he was left for the cops to find, it would attract all the wrong attention. 

"I gotta say, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Mac said, the dark humor in his voice at odds with the strained expression on his face. 

Part of Vic agreed with him, but the rest of him was sick at the sight of Detective McKenzie's mutilated body. Between the blood and the decay, it was almost impossible to recognize him, but the size and the suit were right. Ditto for the oversized ring on his pinkie. The only thing was, what the hell was he doing in Jackie's car at the Agency? And where was Jackie? 

Vic turned, scanning the small lot. Their car and Jackie's were the only ones around, and there was no sign of life. On the ground next to the driver's side of the car was a tiny smear of blood, but it wasn't enough to be a serious wound. He dropped to one knee next to the blood stain and bent down to look under the car. There he found a jumble of items, and he fished them out. 

Jackie's purse. A crushed cellphone. A mess of wires that was obviously the equipment Jackie was *supposed* to be wearing so that they didn't lose her. It hadn't done any good. 

"Why kill McKenzie?" Mac asked, still staring at the car. 

"Who knows," Vic replied, standing up again. Outwardly, at least, he tried to maintain his calm. "Maybe he got too close." 

"Then why dump him in Jackie's car? It doesn't make any sense!" 

A small group was emerging from the Agency's doors, and Vic pulled Mac away from the car. The items he had found, he stuffed into Jackie's purse to bring with them. "Do you think it was Sanji?" he asked. 

Mac looked at him like he had grown two heads. "What do you think?" Mac said, each word cut off sharply as it came out of his mouth. 

"Exactly what you think. He grabbed Jackie and left McKenzie. That means McKenzie's body is probably a warning. He's been watching us. He probably saw the confrontation outside of the Ceramic Arts co-op." 

"The killer was *watching* us?" Mac said, swallowing hard. "I don't think I like that idea." 

"You and me both," Vic muttered, leaning against his car while the housekeeping team quickly and efficiently removed the body from the car and took it away. The car itself was probably going to end up at the bottom of Lake Ontario, well out from shore. McKenzie would no doubt go in the books at the PD as a missing person, case never solved. The only real worry was that McKenzie might have told someone about talking to Mac and Vic. That could make them suspects, which would be a pain in the ass. 

"So now what? We have to find Jackie!" Mac took a deep breath. "Shit. I mean, we knew she was a target, but it was supposed to be a week between victims. What changed things?" 

"I don't know," Vic said, staring into the distance, suddenly wishing for a cigarette to calm his nerves, even though he hadn't smoked since LiAnn had insisted that he lose the disgusting habit. Then he straightened up. "But we better figure out fast. Only problem is, I'm all out of ideas." 

Mac was silent for a moment, then elbowed him. "I've got one, but it's a long shot. Let's go." 

* * *

Mac drove quickly, heading for the house he'd only been to twice. The streets were nearly dead, only an hour before sunrise, but it was an eerie feeling, like the world was holding its breath. He didn't really believe that they were going to find Jackie before sunrise drove them inside, and Vic knew it too, but they had to hope that the change in pattern meant that they had time. Otherwise, they were going to wake up to find out that her body had been dumped in an alleyway, assuming that it didn't end up a pile of dust from sun exposure. His stomach turned at the thought, and he pushed any images of Jackie being dead aside. Think positive, he told himself. 

Sofia's house was dark when they arrived, but it had been that way when he'd arrived the previous night. Any lights in the kitchen wouldn't be visible from the front of the house anyway. He pulled up to the curb and headed for the door at a run. 

Vic caught up with him as he knocked on the door. There was no answer. After a moment, he knocked a little louder. No matter how much he strained, he couldn't hear any indication of movement inside. 

"Damn," he muttered to himself, pulling out his wallet. Tucked into a hidden pocket were his lock picks. He extracted them carefully and used them to get the door open. Surprisingly, there were no horrified comments or demands for explanations from Vic. Vic had definitely loosened up since they'd first met. 

Inside, it was pitch black. He tried the light-switch, but either there was no power or there were no light bulbs in the fixtures. He had a bad feeling about this. He headed for the kitchen. 

The room was exactly as he remembered, but again, the light switch didn't work. The skin on the back of his neck was starting to crawl as he opened cupboards. He found all the dishes that had been there that morning, and the now dead fridge was stocked with food, already starting to turn in the heat. 

"Mac, all the rooms are empty, full of dust, and there's no one around. Why are we here?" Vic said, appearing at the doorway. 

Ignoring him for the moment, Mac headed for the basement. A quick check, impossible without Kindred night-vision, found the room he'd spent the day in, exactly as he remembered but smelling musty. He hadn't noticed the smell before. Mac ran his fingers through his hair, trying to order his thoughts. Then he headed back upstairs. 

"Sun's going to be up in just over half an hour," Vic said. "We better get going." 

Mac nodded silently and followed him back out to the car, letting Vic get behind the wheel this time. They drove silently, well aware of the several clocks ticking. Sunrise. Jackie. The police potentially coming after them when they realized McKenzie had vanished. All of these things were hanging over their heads. 

The morning lassitude was already starting to affect him by the time Vic pulled into his parking spot outside their building. Mac could barely find the energy to get inside, but they made it to their apartment before the sun came up. 

They fed quickly from the blood supply in the fridge, then undressed— Mac needed Vic's help to finish—and climbed into bed. 

"So why were we at that house?" Vic asked. 

"Sofia's place. Remember she boosted the pendant?" Mac said sleepily, tugging at the pendant that he'd left hanging around his neck, pretty sure that he'd told Vic about that along with everything else. 

"Yeah?" 

"'S giving me visions. Thought maybe could get the right vision. Where Jackie is. Sanji. LiAnn. We aren't going to stop this without help. But don't know how to control it. Thought she might." He wasn't sure how coherent he was, but Vic nodded. 

"We'll worry about that tonight. Go to sleep." 

He sounded like he was humoring Mac, which made Mac frown. "Gonna try to dream. Dreamt you fighting Kata in Frisco." 

"Go to sleep, Mac," Vic said, kissing his forehead. 

Mac pressed against his lover seeking full body contact, the pendant pressed between them, and let the sunlight outside lull him into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Jackie moaned softly as the darkness slowly receded. She had a pounding headache, and every muscle in her body was pins and needles. She tried to move, and that small motion send shockwaves up and down her spine. Gasping, she went limp again. 

"Hello, Jackie." 

The voice was familiar, and when she forced open crusty eyes, she was somehow unsurprised to see Sanji crouched next to her, looking down. She opened her mouth, already planning her words carefully to try and defuse the situation, but all that came out was a strangled sound. She swallowed and tried again. "Where am I?" she croaked through a dry throat. 

"My home," Sanji said. He tucked a hand under her and levered her up into a seated position. She bit her lip to keep from letting him know just how much that hurt, but the small smile on his face told her that he knew *exactly* what she was feeling. "Or perhaps I should say, my home away from home, since I have no intention of being in this city any longer than necessary." 

The prickling feeling was already starting to fade, although the headache didn't, and after a moment she was on her feet, although she was leaning heavily on the man. He supported her across the room and sat her on a straight backed chair. Feeling better, she was finally able to take in her surroundings, and what she saw didn't reassure her. 

The room they were in looked like it had been through an inferno, literally. The walls were stained with soot, and the wallpaper was hanging in long strips, stained by water. The floor was missing in places, and the lingering scent of smoke made her nose twitch. She wanted to sneeze, but held it in, even though she felt like her head was going to explode, not wanting to show anything that might be considered a weakness in front of the other man. 

"Better?" Sanji asked, standing next to her, stroking her head. Remembering Mac's sketch, she had to fight to keep from flinching. He was as handsome as she remembered, but all she could see was blood dripping from his hands. 

"A bit," she said reluctantly. "What happened?" She remembered talking with Mac, then getting outfitted with electronic surveillance equipment, although a discrete check told her that the wires were gone, so no one was going to be using them to track her. Then... She frowned. She was heading home, since it was too close to dawn to actually do anything. She'd reached her car and... 

Her eyes went wide. "There was a dead body in my car!" she said. Damnit, she'd liked that car, but there was no way she was ever getting into it again. Even if they ripped out the entire interior and complete redid it, she wasn't going to have anything to do with it. 

"I was doing you a favor," Sanji said, smiling, and for a moment she had the impression of pointed teeth. Not fangs, like a vampire, but needle-like. Shark-like. She swallowed hard and tried not to twist in her seat as the man circled around her. Shark metaphors were not good right now. 

"A favor?" 

"When you met with the two pretty boys, earlier, he was watching you, all full of malice. I took care of him before he could cause you trouble. Wasn't that nice of me?" 

Chills were running through her, despite the heat. He sounded like he actually expected her to be grateful. "Yeah, very nice. Who the hell was he?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"I suppose not," she replied, biting the inside of her cheek. "So where have you been? I've been looking for you." 

"I know." He smiled again, this time without showing teeth, thankfully. He slid around behind her, and this time she twisted, trying to keep him in view. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, and the air seemed to crackle. "Anticipation makes the experience more... pleasurable, does it not?" 

His breath was hot against her cheek, and smelled faintly of... Well, she wasn't sure what it smelled of, just that it made her stomach clench, and not in a good way. Not the way LiAnn had made her stomach clench the night before. "If you say so," she said cautiously. 

Sanji laughed. "So careful. So beautiful." He stroked her hair ever so carefully, and she twitched with the need to jerk away. "Normally I would have nothing to do with your kind, but for you, I might make an exception." 

"My kind? What, you don't like blondes?" She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, and he laughed. 

"Oh, come now. Do you think I didn't know what you are, drinker of blood? And yet, you are tempting. Perhaps my master will let me keep you when I return to his realm." 

"Master?" she asked, trying to keep cool. If she kept her head, he might tell her more. 

Sanji's eyes seemed to glow. "The greatest of the lords. The one who saved me. The one who sent me. I do his bidding in everything. And none will stop me from completing my task." He stroked her cheek gently, and this time she did jerk away. "What, am I so repulsive? That's not what you thought before. Or perhaps you prefer..." He straightened, and his entire body seemed to shimmer. A moment later, Sanji was gone and LiAnn stood in his place. At least it looked like LiAnn, but the glow in her eyes was the same as Sanji's, and Jackie swallowed hard. Was he suggesting that *he* was the one she'd been with the previous night? She shook her head, refusing to believe it. 

Sanji, in LiAnn's form, moved around and straddled her lap. He... she... it settled down, hands on Jackie's shoulder, and leaned down until their lips were almost touching. The smell was even stronger now, and she was certain that no matter what it suggested, it wasn't the one she'd slept with. LiAnn's breath hadn't been anything like that. 

Sanji grinned, then forced a parody of a kiss on her lips. Jackie reached up to try to push it away, but her hands were quickly pinned to her side, and she had to stay still while it finished the kiss, then ran its tongue along her cheekbone. She shuddered at the wet feeling left behind, like slime or something. 

Then, suddenly, the weight holding her down was gone, and Sanji stood in front of her again. Jackie was relieved to see it no longer wearing LiAnn's face. 

"I have things to do, so I will see you later. I recommend you not leave this room. The sun is coming up, night-walker, and the roof of this building is damaged. This room will be safe for you, but that is all I can promise. Besides, where would you go?" 

Jackie stayed silent as the shapeshifter left the room. An instant later, she was on her feet, prowling the perimeter, checking for any way out. 

A glance out in the hallway told her that it hadn't been lying about one thing: with the sky beginning to lighten, she could see the holes in what was left of the roof. The building had been gutted by a fire, sometime in the recent past. In fact, the only part of the building that seemed reasonably intact was the room she was in. And since she didn't know where she was, she couldn't risk leaving the place and getting caught out in the sun. 

Holes in the floor led to a basement, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go down there. She could hear things moving around down there, and she really didn't want to find out what they were. On the other hand, she also didn't want to be a good little girl and wait for Sanji to come back. She found the largest gap in the flooring and checked it. It would be a tight fit, but she could do it. 

It took a little squeezing, but she made it, although her blouse was going to be a total loss. She'd caught it on a stray splinter, and there was a rip from shoulder to wrist. Damnit, she'd liked that blouse. On the other hand, if sacrificing it got her out of there, she wasn't going to shed a tear. 

The basement was damp concrete walls and a gravel floor, which made her glad that she was wearing flat shoes instead of her preferred heels. And how old was this place that it didn't have a proper basement? She moved carefully around the space, looking for any exit or hiding space, trying to ignore the sound of scrabbling paws. Some of her brethren liked rats, but as far as she was concerned, that was taking the Vampire myth a little too far. She wasn't *that* crazy. The Nosferatu were welcome to the vermin. 

The sun was starting to come up, so she didn't have much time to spare. The sky, through a few gaps in the floor above her, was definitely getting brighter. 

Then, at the far end of the basement she hit possible paydirt. She eyes the gap at the bottom of the wall in distaste. It was barely big enough to let her through, hunched over, and she didn't want to think about what was on the other side, but it was some sort of passage way, and she could hear the sound of water running. Her guess was that it led to the sewer system or something. 

From what she could see, the passage had been deliberately made, definitely not natural, but by whom or for what purpose she had no idea. Still, if it was deliberately made, then it had to be passable. At least it had been once, she assumed. That it might not be anymore was something she didn't want to think about. 

It smelled to high heaven and was pitch black, but she took a deep breath, crouched down and squeezed through. 

Here went everything. 

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Mac drove while Vic kept trying to reach Jackie. By the time they'd reached the car, the connection had gone down and every attempt to call her cell had come back with an error message telling them that her cell was either out of range or not turned on. 

After this, Vic started dialing different numbers. Unfortunately, Dobrinsky had stopped answering *his* phone, although it did ring. The Director also wasn't taking calls. He finally called the surveillance weenies. "Did Jackie Janczyk get wired?" he said as soon as the phone was picked up, before the person on the other end could get a word in edgewise. 

"And hello to you to," an irritated voice responded. "Yes she did. Bitch." The last was muttered, and Vic decided to ignore it for the time being. 

"Well, fire up your equipment and tell me where she is." 

"What, she get lost on the way home?" The tone in the woman's voice was downright nasty, and Vic found himself rolling his eyes, wondering just what Jackie had done to piss her off. Of course, sometimes it seemed that Jackie did that just by breathing. Talent. And looks, probably. 

But they didn't have time for that. "Just do it," he said through gritted teeth. 

"Fine, fine. Sheesh." There was silence for a few moments, other than the clicking of keyboard keys that he could hear easily through the phone. "Well, if she's lost, she did a good job of it. She's out in the parking lot. Shall I send someone to lead her to her car?" The sarcasm almost dripped from her voice. 

"No thanks," Vic snapped, and turned the phone off. "You heard?" 

Mac took a corner at speeds that would have gotten them pulled over if it wasn't the wee hours of the morning. Instead, the streets were deserted, and there wasn't a cop around, so he could drive like a maniac if he wanted, just as long as he got them where they were going as fast as possible. Vic wasn't about to complain. "I heard," the younger man said tersely, not taking his eyes off the road or his foot off the gas. 

It was only a few minutes later that they were screeching into the tiny parking lot outside the Agency office's entrance. There was only one car there—most employees of the organization used public transit and the tunnels that connected the transit system to the Agency's lower levels. It was Jackie's. She and Mac had the same taste in cars, Vic thought to himself. Red and sporty, with no space for more than one passenger. 

Mac pulled into a spot close to Jackie's car, but not too close, and they got out. Almost immediately, the smell of blood and rotting flesh was overwhelming in the warm night air. "Shit," Mac said, walking towards the car, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Vic took advantage of the fact that he didn't really need to breathe "Oh, yuck," Mac said, looking a little green. 

Yuck was a good term for it. The dead man behind the wheel of Jackie's car looked like he'd been dead for the better part of a week. Part of that was the heat, but still, the decomposition was too advanced for it to be natural. Especially since they'd spoken with the man only a few days earlier. 

Vic pulled out the cellphone yet again and hit the speed dial for a number he didn't use much, but which was programmed into all agents' cellphones. "Housekeeping? There's a dead cop on our doorstep. You might want to clean it up." He hung up before the Agency's cover-up staff could protest. They usually dealt with making sure that no one paid to much attention to the Agency's people or equipment. They didn't normally deal with dead bodies, but they didn't have much choice. If he was left for the cops to find, it would attract all the wrong attention. 

"I gotta say, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Mac said, the dark humor in his voice at odds with the strained expression on his face. 

Part of Vic agreed with him, but the rest of him was sick at the sight of Detective McKenzie's mutilated body. Between the blood and the decay, it was almost impossible to recognize him, but the size and the suit were right. Ditto for the oversized ring on his pinkie. The only thing was, what the hell was he doing in Jackie's car at the Agency? And where was Jackie? 

Vic turned, scanning the small lot. Their car and Jackie's were the only ones around, and there was no sign of life. On the ground next to the driver's side of the car was a tiny smear of blood, but it wasn't enough to be a serious wound. He dropped to one knee next to the blood stain and bent down to look under the car. There he found a jumble of items, and he fished them out. 

Jackie's purse. A crushed cellphone. A mess of wires that was obviously the equipment Jackie was *supposed* to be wearing so that they didn't lose her. It hadn't done any good. 

"Why kill McKenzie?" Mac asked, still staring at the car. 

"Who knows," Vic replied, standing up again. Outwardly, at least, he tried to maintain his calm. "Maybe he got too close." 

"Then why dump him in Jackie's car? It doesn't make any sense!" 

A small group was emerging from the Agency's doors, and Vic pulled Mac away from the car. The items he had found, he stuffed into Jackie's purse to bring with them. "Do you think it was Sanji?" he asked. 

Mac looked at him like he had grown two heads. "What do you think?" Mac said, each word cut off sharply as it came out of his mouth. 

"Exactly what you think. He grabbed Jackie and left McKenzie. That means McKenzie's body is probably a warning. He's been watching us. He probably saw the confrontation outside of the Ceramic Arts co-op." 

"The killer was *watching* us?" Mac said, swallowing hard. "I don't think I like that idea." 

"You and me both," Vic muttered, leaning against his car while the housekeeping team quickly and efficiently removed the body from the car and took it away. The car itself was probably going to end up at the bottom of Lake Ontario, well out from shore. McKenzie would no doubt go in the books at the PD as a missing person, case never solved. The only real worry was that McKenzie might have told someone about talking to Mac and Vic. That could make them suspects, which would be a pain in the ass. 

"So now what? We have to find Jackie!" Mac took a deep breath. "Shit. I mean, we knew she was a target, but it was supposed to be a week between victims. What changed things?" 

"I don't know," Vic said, staring into the distance, suddenly wishing for a cigarette to calm his nerves, even though he hadn't smoked since LiAnn had insisted that he lose the disgusting habit. Then he straightened up. "But we better figure out fast. Only problem is, I'm all out of ideas." 

Mac was silent for a moment, then elbowed him. "I've got one, but it's a long shot. Let's go." 

* * *

Mac drove quickly, heading for the house he'd only been to twice. The streets were nearly dead, only an hour before sunrise, but it was an eerie feeling, like the world was holding its breath. He didn't really believe that they were going to find Jackie before sunrise drove them inside, and Vic knew it too, but they had to hope that the change in pattern meant that they had time. Otherwise, they were going to wake up to find out that her body had been dumped in an alleyway, assuming that it didn't end up a pile of dust from sun exposure. His stomach turned at the thought, and he pushed any images of Jackie being dead aside. Think positive, he told himself. 

Sofia's house was dark when they arrived, but it had been that way when he'd arrived the previous night. Any lights in the kitchen wouldn't be visible from the front of the house anyway. He pulled up to the curb and headed for the door at a run. 

Vic caught up with him as he knocked on the door. There was no answer. After a moment, he knocked a little louder. No matter how much he strained, he couldn't hear any indication of movement inside. 

"Damn," he muttered to himself, pulling out his wallet. Tucked into a hidden pocket were his lock picks. He extracted them carefully and used them to get the door open. Surprisingly, there were no horrified comments or demands for explanations from Vic. Vic had definitely loosened up since they'd first met. 

Inside, it was pitch black. He tried the light-switch, but either there was no power or there were no light bulbs in the fixtures. He had a bad feeling about this. He headed for the kitchen. 

The room was exactly as he remembered, but again, the light switch didn't work. The skin on the back of his neck was starting to crawl as he opened cupboards. He found all the dishes that had been there that morning, and the now dead fridge was stocked with food, already starting to turn in the heat. 

"Mac, all the rooms are empty, full of dust, and there's no one around. Why are we here?" Vic said, appearing at the doorway. 

Ignoring him for the moment, Mac headed for the basement. A quick check, impossible without Kindred night-vision, found the room he'd spent the day in, exactly as he remembered but smelling musty. He hadn't noticed the smell before. Mac ran his fingers through his hair, trying to order his thoughts. Then he headed back upstairs. 

"Sun's going to be up in just over half an hour," Vic said. "We better get going." 

Mac nodded silently and followed him back out to the car, letting Vic get behind the wheel this time. They drove silently, well aware of the several clocks ticking. Sunrise. Jackie. The police potentially coming after them when they realized McKenzie had vanished. All of these things were hanging over their heads. 

The morning lassitude was already starting to affect him by the time Vic pulled into his parking spot outside their building. Mac could barely find the energy to get inside, but they made it to their apartment before the sun came up. 

They fed quickly from the blood supply in the fridge, then undressed— Mac needed Vic's help to finish—and climbed into bed. 

"So why were we at that house?" Vic asked. 

"Sofia's place. Remember she boosted the pendant?" Mac said sleepily, tugging at the pendant that he'd left hanging around his neck, pretty sure that he'd told Vic about that along with everything else. 

"Yeah?" 

"'S giving me visions. Thought maybe could get the right vision. Where Jackie is. Sanji. LiAnn. We aren't going to stop this without help. But don't know how to control it. Thought she might." He wasn't sure how coherent he was, but Vic nodded. 

"We'll worry about that tonight. Go to sleep." 

He sounded like he was humoring Mac, which made Mac frown. "Gonna try to dream. Dreamt you fighting Kata in Frisco." 

"Go to sleep, Mac," Vic said, kissing his forehead. 

Mac pressed against his lover seeking full body contact, the pendant pressed between them, and let the sunlight outside lull him into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Jackie moaned softly as the darkness slowly receded. She had a pounding headache, and every muscle in her body was pins and needles. She tried to move, and that small motion send shockwaves up and down her spine. Gasping, she went limp again. 

"Hello, Jackie." 

The voice was familiar, and when she forced open crusty eyes, she was somehow unsurprised to see Sanji crouched next to her, looking down. She opened her mouth, already planning her words carefully to try and defuse the situation, but all that came out was a strangled sound. She swallowed and tried again. "Where am I?" she croaked through a dry throat. 

"My home," Sanji said. He tucked a hand under her and levered her up into a seated position. She bit her lip to keep from letting him know just how much that hurt, but the small smile on his face told her that he knew *exactly* what she was feeling. "Or perhaps I should say, my home away from home, since I have no intention of being in this city any longer than necessary." 

The prickling feeling was already starting to fade, although the headache didn't, and after a moment she was on her feet, although she was leaning heavily on the man. He supported her across the room and sat her on a straight backed chair. Feeling better, she was finally able to take in her surroundings, and what she saw didn't reassure her. 

The room they were in looked like it had been through an inferno, literally. The walls were stained with soot, and the wallpaper was hanging in long strips, stained by water. The floor was missing in places, and the lingering scent of smoke made her nose twitch. She wanted to sneeze, but held it in, even though she felt like her head was going to explode, not wanting to show anything that might be considered a weakness in front of the other man. 

"Better?" Sanji asked, standing next to her, stroking her head. Remembering Mac's sketch, she had to fight to keep from flinching. He was as handsome as she remembered, but all she could see was blood dripping from his hands. 

"A bit," she said reluctantly. "What happened?" She remembered talking with Mac, then getting outfitted with electronic surveillance equipment, although a discrete check told her that the wires were gone, so no one was going to be using them to track her. Then... She frowned. She was heading home, since it was too close to dawn to actually do anything. She'd reached her car and... 

Her eyes went wide. "There was a dead body in my car!" she said. Damnit, she'd liked that car, but there was no way she was ever getting into it again. Even if they ripped out the entire interior and complete redid it, she wasn't going to have anything to do with it. 

"I was doing you a favor," Sanji said, smiling, and for a moment she had the impression of pointed teeth. Not fangs, like a vampire, but needle-like. Shark-like. She swallowed hard and tried not to twist in her seat as the man circled around her. Shark metaphors were not good right now. 

"A favor?" 

"When you met with the two pretty boys, earlier, he was watching you, all full of malice. I took care of him before he could cause you trouble. Wasn't that nice of me?" 

Chills were running through her, despite the heat. He sounded like he actually expected her to be grateful. "Yeah, very nice. Who the hell was he?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"I suppose not," she replied, biting the inside of her cheek. "So where have you been? I've been looking for you." 

"I know." He smiled again, this time without showing teeth, thankfully. He slid around behind her, and this time she twisted, trying to keep him in view. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, and the air seemed to crackle. "Anticipation makes the experience more... pleasurable, does it not?" 

His breath was hot against her cheek, and smelled faintly of... Well, she wasn't sure what it smelled of, just that it made her stomach clench, and not in a good way. Not the way LiAnn had made her stomach clench the night before. "If you say so," she said cautiously. 

Sanji laughed. "So careful. So beautiful." He stroked her hair ever so carefully, and she twitched with the need to jerk away. "Normally I would have nothing to do with your kind, but for you, I might make an exception." 

"My kind? What, you don't like blondes?" She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, and he laughed. 

"Oh, come now. Do you think I didn't know what you are, drinker of blood? And yet, you are tempting. Perhaps my master will let me keep you when I return to his realm." 

"Master?" she asked, trying to keep cool. If she kept her head, he might tell her more. 

Sanji's eyes seemed to glow. "The greatest of the lords. The one who saved me. The one who sent me. I do his bidding in everything. And none will stop me from completing my task." He stroked her cheek gently, and this time she did jerk away. "What, am I so repulsive? That's not what you thought before. Or perhaps you prefer..." He straightened, and his entire body seemed to shimmer. A moment later, Sanji was gone and LiAnn stood in his place. At least it looked like LiAnn, but the glow in her eyes was the same as Sanji's, and Jackie swallowed hard. Was he suggesting that *he* was the one she'd been with the previous night? She shook her head, refusing to believe it. 

Sanji, in LiAnn's form, moved around and straddled her lap. He... she... it settled down, hands on Jackie's shoulder, and leaned down until their lips were almost touching. The smell was even stronger now, and she was certain that no matter what it suggested, it wasn't the one she'd slept with. LiAnn's breath hadn't been anything like that. 

Sanji grinned, then forced a parody of a kiss on her lips. Jackie reached up to try to push it away, but her hands were quickly pinned to her side, and she had to stay still while it finished the kiss, then ran its tongue along her cheekbone. She shuddered at the wet feeling left behind, like slime or something. 

Then, suddenly, the weight holding her down was gone, and Sanji stood in front of her again. Jackie was relieved to see it no longer wearing LiAnn's face. 

"I have things to do, so I will see you later. I recommend you not leave this room. The sun is coming up, night-walker, and the roof of this building is damaged. This room will be safe for you, but that is all I can promise. Besides, where would you go?" 

Jackie stayed silent as the shapeshifter left the room. An instant later, she was on her feet, prowling the perimeter, checking for any way out. 

A glance out in the hallway told her that it hadn't been lying about one thing: with the sky beginning to lighten, she could see the holes in what was left of the roof. The building had been gutted by a fire, sometime in the recent past. In fact, the only part of the building that seemed reasonably intact was the room she was in. And since she didn't know where she was, she couldn't risk leaving the place and getting caught out in the sun. 

Holes in the floor led to a basement, but she wasn't sure she wanted to go down there. She could hear things moving around down there, and she really didn't want to find out what they were. On the other hand, she also didn't want to be a good little girl and wait for Sanji to come back. She found the largest gap in the flooring and checked it. It would be a tight fit, but she could do it. 

It took a little squeezing, but she made it, although her blouse was going to be a total loss. She'd caught it on a stray splinter, and there was a rip from shoulder to wrist. Damnit, she'd liked that blouse. On the other hand, if sacrificing it got her out of there, she wasn't going to shed a tear. 

The basement was damp concrete walls and a gravel floor, which made her glad that she was wearing flat shoes instead of her preferred heels. And how old was this place that it didn't have a proper basement? She moved carefully around the space, looking for any exit or hiding space, trying to ignore the sound of scrabbling paws. Some of her brethren liked rats, but as far as she was concerned, that was taking the Vampire myth a little too far. She wasn't *that* crazy. The Nosferatu were welcome to the vermin. 

The sun was starting to come up, so she didn't have much time to spare. The sky, through a few gaps in the floor above her, was definitely getting brighter. 

Then, at the far end of the basement she hit possible paydirt. She eyes the gap at the bottom of the wall in distaste. It was barely big enough to let her through, hunched over, and she didn't want to think about what was on the other side, but it was some sort of passage way, and she could hear the sound of water running. Her guess was that it led to the sewer system or something. 

From what she could see, the passage had been deliberately made, definitely not natural, but by whom or for what purpose she had no idea. Still, if it was deliberately made, then it had to be passable. At least it had been once, she assumed. That it might not be anymore was something she didn't want to think about. 

It smelled to high heaven and was pitch black, but she took a deep breath, crouched down and squeezed through. 

Here went everything. 


	7. Book III: Never the Twain 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book I: San Francisco Meetings - The Director announces that she is going to San Francisco for a series of meetings, and that our favorite trio will be going as her entourage. Book II: Dancing on Wire - After their return to Toronto, Vic adjusts to his new 'life' and he and Mac start a relationship. But someone else has their own plans for Mac. Book III: Never the Twain - Just where is Li Ann anyway? And why hasn't anyone heard from her? And what is with that damned necklace anyway. I can't promise all the answers, but we shall see.

**Never the Twain  
by Lianne Burwell  
**

Carpe Noctem Book Three 

  
**Chapter Thirteen**

Many people think of the dark as just an absence of light and think that they've what it's like to be in the dark. A room in the middle of the night with the lights off, a basement during a blackout. Little things like that. 

But people who've experienced _true_ darkness knew that these people were fooling themselves. Darkness was more than just an absence of light—and none of those conditions people called darkness were ever truly _without_ light. Darkness was a taste, a touch, a sound. Darkness wrapped you up in bonds that would never be fully released. 

Darkness was all around, as heavy as a wool blanket, as all encompassing as despair. The only sound was water, trickling at first, then slowly growing in speed, a strangely malignant sound. And the smell was overwhelming, of rot and decay and things long dead. The feel underhand was of dirt and slime and concrete. The air was closing in, squeezing badly needed breath away, even though breath wasn't necessary. 

And underlying it all was the overwhelming fear. Fear of what was ahead. Fear of what was behind. And most of all, fear of _him_. 

In the end, it was the fear that forced reluctant feet to keep moving, pressing forward, until the tight walls suddenly disappeared, resulting in a bone-jarring drop into fetid water. 

And now a choice: Which way to go? Which way to safety? Was there even any safety to be found? 

And behind, the sound of footsteps and voice calling, both mocking and angry. 

No time to hesitate. Pick a direction and go. 

* * *

Mac woke, thrashing in an attempt to get away from the bindings holding him in place. They didn't give, and he panicked. Suddenly he could feel the pressure of god only knew how many feet of soil pressing down on top of him, slowly crushing him alive, and no one was going to find him, no one was going to save him. He was going to die there, over and over again, no matter what he did. 

"Mac. Mac!" 

The voice calling him was familiar, and he latched onto it like a life line. Bit by bit, the panic receded. The bindings holding him turned out to be only bed sheets. And the darkness was _not_ complete. The hall light was one, spilling a cheery pool of light into the bedroom. 

Vic was untangling him, as quickly as possible. As soon as the sheet was gone, Mac ran for the bathroom. He hunched over the toilet, dry heaving, but nothing came up. He shivered. 

"Mac, are you all right?" Vic asked, carefully touching his shoulder. 

Mac rubbed his eyes, then stood up. His stomach didn't seem quite so eager to tie itself into tiny knots anymore. "Not really, but I will be," he answered honestly. For the moment, food was definitely out, but a shower sounded like a really good idea. He stepped into the stall and turned the water on warm. A moment later, Vic quickly stripped and followed him. 

Mac stood, eyes shut, under the spray, trying to let go of the tension left over from his dream. After a moment, He felt a soapy sponge go to work on his back, and sighed. There was nothing teasing in the touch, no attempt to seduce, just a firm scrubbing motion. He let his head hang forward and just enjoyed. Even better than a massage, he thought. 

"Ready to talk about it?" Vic said when he finished, setting the sponge on a shelf. Mac grabbed it and turned around to return the favor. 

"Not much to tell," he said, concentrating on his task. If he concentrated on this, he might be able to wipe away the dream's immediacy. "Cramped darkness, with the sound of water and the most god-awful smell. And with the sheet wrapped tight around me, for a moment I was..." He stopped, not willing to put into words what he'd been feeling. 

Vic winced, and didn't press. He was a pretty savvy guy: he'd probably figured out what Mac hadn't said. "Was it just a nightmare?" he asked, turning so that Mac could scrub his back. The graceful line of his spine drew Mac touch, and he traced it from Vic's neck down to the valley between the cheeks of his perfect ass, making the man shiver, before returning to the task of cleaning. 

"I don't know," he finally said. "It's a little confused. But other than the end, it wasn't my memories." That seemed like a pretty good dance around the subject to him. "Certainly the smell certainly wasn't a memory. I've smelled some pretty rank things in my life, but that took the cake." 

Vic reached for him, and Mac dropped the sponge in favor of wrapping himself around the man. They didn't have time for this, but the little bit of comfort was just what he needed. Then they turned off the water, dried quickly and dressed. Mac heated breakfast for them while Vic called the Agency to find out if there's been any news during the day. He listened for a minute, then hung up and took the mug that Mac held out to him. "Nothing," he said with a frown. 

Mac sighed. "Well, in this case maybe no news is good news. No news means no body." He shuddered at the thought of Jackie in an alley, mutilated like the others. Jackie drove him up the wall at times, but he'd actually gotten to like her since she'd joined the Agency, especially after he and LiAnn had nearly come to blows over Vic's change. He still could hear LiAnn crying that Vic would have been better off dead, and that it was all _his_ fault that Vic was like that. The words had hurt like hell, and he'd wondered if she'd been thinking of restarting her relationship with the ex- cop. He hadn't liked that idea much at all. Jackie, on the other hand, had reassured him that he'd done the right thing, and that LiAnn was just being an idiot. 

Now, between Jackie being missing, and LiAnn missing even longer, he was about ready to go nuts, and his only real idea had been a spectacular flop, since his dream wasn't exactly something that they could use as a map to find their missing partners. 

Mac quickly inhaled some blood to replace missing energy, rinsed his mug, and put it away. Vic was still standing next to the phone still, a frown on his face. Mac fidgeted for a moment, then sighed. "So, you got any ideas? 'Cause I'm fresh out," Mac said. He was itching to get moving, his instincts demanding action, but without a plan, they would just be going in circles. 

Vic grimaced. "Not really. Well, maybe one, but..." He stopped. 

"Well, what is it?" Mac asked, resisting the urge to role his eyes. 

"That thing." He pointed at Mac, and Mac looked down, just realizing that he was still wearying the pendant. The leather was still damp against his neck. 

"It didn't work before," he pointed out. 

"Maybe. But did it not work because of it, or because both you and Jackie were asleep?" 

Mac blinked at that. "I never considered that," he said slowly. "And when I dreamed of Kata, it didn't really match what eventually happened. It was more of a symbolic thing." 

"And you wanted to try it this morning, but the sun came up before we could do anything but get home. So, why not try it now?" 

Mac was still a little dubious. "I still don't know how make it work. That's why I wanted to go to Sophia's place; to get her help with it." 

Vic's expression darkened a little at that. "I called that in, asked the tech geeks to do some checking, since you overslept sunset by a bit. The address we went to has been officially vacant for nearly seven years. The previous owners died, and the heirs never moved in and never tried to sell the place. They're going to do some more checking, though. I don't suppose Sofia ever gave a last name?" Mac shrugged. "I didn't think so." 

"Then should we even risk it?" Mac asked worriedly. "I mean, this makes me wonder just what she was doing here, so can we trust what she did to it?" His hand came up to touch the metal, then flinched. He couldn't picture giving Vic's gift up for any reason, but suddenly it made him nervous. 

Vic looked like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. "You said it was giving you dreams long before Sofia even came along," he finally said. 

Mac considered the idea, then nodded. "It's not like we have a lot of choice in the matter anyway," he said with a shrug. "The only problem is, how?" 

"I haven't clue," Vic said, a small, rueful smile making his lips twitch. "I was hoping you did." 

Mac thought about it for a minute. "Okay. I'll need the living room, and no distractions, so turn off the phones." 

Vic moved to do that, while Mac headed into the bathroom for his meditation supplies: natural candles and some incense imported from China that made him think of home. 

He drew the heavy drapes in the living room and turned off the lights, then set out the candles on top of the coffee table. He lit them, and a stick of incense, then sat down on the sofa cross- legged. A little soft music might have helped, but he didn't want to take the time to go hunting through their music collection— which didn't include much mood music—for something appropriate. 

He started out with deep breathing, drawing in a breath through his nostrils, holding it deep inside him, then releasing it out through his mouth. It might seem a little silly, since he could get by without breathing, but it was traditional, and it helped to relax him. He shut his eyes so that the only light he saw was the red glow of the candle flames through his eyelids and dropped deeper into relaxation, reaching for that half-conscious, floating feeling. He pictured himself sinking into the sea, the waters growing darker around him as he sank, until all light was gone and the darkness wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, completely unlike his dream. 

As the darkness became complete, he became aware of a point of heat, pressed against his chest, just below the collarbone, and recognized it as the pendant. He turned his attention to it, and wrapped his mental self around the piece of carved metal. He pictured the dips and curves of the surface ornamentation and followed them, until it was perfectly clear in his mind. 

Then, he thought of Jackie, picturing her as she'd been when he'd seen her last: The clothing she'd been wearing, the way her hair had been styled, the expression on her face. 

Immediately, the image shifted. The blouse was ripped, and blood smeared her forehead. She was covered in dirt and ash, and cursing. She was pushing her way through a narrow tunnel, and the smell, the slimy feel, and the sound of water, all of it the same as his dream, was back. 

* * *

Jackie kept moving as fast as the dark tunnel would let her. She hadn't got far before the sun had risen high enough to force her to sleep, even if she was far out of the light's reach. She'd managed to force herself awake well before sunset, moving on. She tried not to think of just what she'd been sleeping in. 

The tiny passageway had connected with the storm sewers—she could see light from above through the occasional drain—and she'd been surprised to find that she could walk almost completely upright: she'd never realized just how large the sewer system under the city was, or how much there was. The drains above her were out of reach, other than a few that had turned out to be bolted shut, and the number of side tunnels had been dizzying. Considering the fact that she didn't have a clue where she was, she could easily end up wandering the tunnels for days. Thankfully there'd been so little rain for the last while that the sewers were almost dry. 

Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to keep wandering blindly. Even though she had a head start that probably came to a couple hours, Sanji was out there, and she had the sinking feeling that he probably knew these tunnels better than she did. All she could do was keep moving and pray that she found an exit, somewhere, so that she could call for help. 

"Little night-walker, you can run, but you can't hide." 

Jackie hissed at the sound of Sanji's voice coming from all around her. It had bounced through tunnels until she couldn't tell what direction it was coming from. It seemed like it was coming from a great distance, and also from right behind her. 

Jackie pushed away from the wall smeared with who-knew-what and started moving again. Sooner or later, she was going to find an exit, she just prayed that it was before Sanji found _her_. 

* * *

Vic watched Mac, doing his best not to fidget. Just a year ago it would have been impossible, but the training he'd had from the Gangrel in town had helped. Hunting prey required periods of waiting perfectly still. He just tapped into that training while he waited for Mac to wake up again. 

While he waited, he engaged in one of his pastimes: Mac watching. If it weren't for the urgency of the current situation, this could almost be considered romantic. The candlelight gave everything a warm glow, especially Mac's skin, softening all edges. Mac's still-wet hair glittered in the flicker, like it had been dusted with diamond dust. With his eyes shut and his expression relaxed, Mac looked the picture of perfect serenity, like a Buddhist monk. Completely unlike his waking attitude. 

Vic stifled a snort. He was getting soft if he was starting to think of Mac in poetic terms. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Mac about it. He'd tried once with LiAnn, but all it had inspired in her was a fit of giggles, and he wasn't about to risk that again. He just wasn't cut out for the romantic shit, he guessed. 

His cellphone vibrated against his hip, and he got up as quietly as possible and headed for the bedroom where he wouldn't disturb the other man, although Mac seemed pretty deep in his trance and didn't even stir as Vic left. 

With the door shut carefully behind him, he answered the still vibrating phone. 

"Hello, Vic." 

Vic blinked. He should have been surprised, but somehow he wasn't. "Hello, LiAnn," he said in a remarkably calm voice. 

"What's new?" 

"Oh, not much. A serial killer is running around our city, pretending to be you, killing people you've slept with, leaving a dead cop outside of the Agency. Oh yeah, and right now, he's got Jackie. What's new with you?" His voice had risen during the recital, and he closed his eyes and counted to ten. It helped. Slightly. 

"Oh, a great deal, but I don't think we need to go into that right now, do you?" 

"And why not?" Vic asked, leaning against the wall, one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other arm wrapped around his ribs. His eyes were focused on the wall opposite where a print hung. The image was a delicate watercolor of an early archaeological dig in Egypt that Mac had brought home and hung one day. When Vic had asked about it—it wasn't exactly what he thought of as the man's style—Mac had made a comment about it being a reminder. Vic had just shrugged and decided that he liked it, so it could stay. Two days later, the Director has given them a gift-wrapped package that held two sets of fine cotton sheets in shades of ivory and a chocolate brown duvet that went perfectly with the print. He'd promptly spent two hours hunting for cameras and removing them. 

"Because finding Jackie before she ends up dead too is more important, don't you think?" 

LiAnn had often sounded slightly superior when talking to him about work, but she'd never been so obvious about it. Vic bristled at the implied criticism. "Well then, why don't you help us. Tell me about this Sanji person." 

"What makes you think I know anything about him?" The arch tone told him that he didn't need to worry about that being the case. 

"Well, if you don't know him, he certainly seems to know you. He's been stalking you across this country." 

"Are you sure? Maybe it's the other way around." 

Vic's teeth were grinding together now. "I don't have time for games, LiAnn. If you aren't going to do anything but play little mind-fuck games, then I suggest you go someplace else." Before she could reply, he hit the 'end' button, terminating the call. 

The phone started vibrating again almost immediately. He ignored it for a few seconds before answering. "Yes?" 

"The one you call Sanji is a demon." 

"LiAnn..." 

"Be quiet and listen. He is a Raksha, one of the servants of Ravana, one of the lords of hell. He is a shape-changer." She paused. 

"I'm listening," Vic prompted. He wasn't sure about demons from hell, but the shape-changer part went along with what they already knew, so he was going to try to keep an open mind. 

"He traveled to the Middle Kingdom—this world—on his master's business. He killed someone very important, and I was sent to destroy him for his crimes. At first I was tracking him, but he realized a lot faster than I expected. He turned the tables and started hunting me instead. He nearly caught and killed me in Bangkok. I escaped, but I couldn't lose him." 

Vic could see where this was going. "So you led him here." 

"I needed allies." 

"If you needed our help, why didn't you call? Jackie saw you months ago. Why keep hiding while Sanji picked off the people you had... contact with, one by one." 

"I've changed. You've changed. When I got here, I realized that Mac had changed to. I wasn't sure I could trust you." 

"What changed your mind?" 

Even over the phone, he could hear her soft sigh. "He's closing in," she said. "He's already left me a message, one written in blood, telling me that he has Jackie. She's not dead yet, but she will be soon." 

"Unless?" Vic prompted. 

"There is no unless. He's going to kill her. Then he's going to end the game and kill me. At least, that's what the jist of the message was." 

Vic closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. "Do you know where he has her?" 

"No. But he feeds on blood and violence. As well, the realm he comes from is a charred remnant of what it used to be. His kind have been known to find lairs that remind them of... home." 

Vic made a mental note of that. "We need to talk, LiAnn. Face to face." 

"Not going to happen." The hard tone of her voice told him that she wasn't going to budge on that. 

"Isn't it difficult to be allies from a distance? Never mind. Just tell me then: What do you plan on doing?" 

It was blunt, but then she was just as blunt back. "Find him. Kill him. Take his head home." 

"And if anyone gets in the way?" 

"They better not." 

Vic closed his eyes. "What happened to you in China, LiAnn? Why haven't you contacted us?" 

Her laugh chilled him to the bone, but gave him one hell of a boner at the same time. "The Director was right, I needed to see my parents, and deal with some issues. I dealt with them." 

Somehow, he knew better than to ask for a clarification, and he wondered just what had happened to the woman he'd been engaged to. Despite their dangerous lifestyle, she'd usually been sweet, maybe even a touch naïve at times. There didn't seem to be much of her left in the woman he was talking to at the moment. Was it even her? "You're not coming back, are you?" he asked, wondering if he even wanted her to. 

"No. I've found my place. The only thing I need to do to keep it is bring the Raksha's head back with me. Vic, if you're smart, you and Mac will stay out of my way." 

"No can do. He's got Jackie, and we're going to find her. And LiAnn, if you do anything to jeopardize that, then _you're_ the one who should stay out of _our_ way. Understood?" 

The laughter this time was almost the LiAnn he remembered. "Good luck, then. You're going to need it. But watch your back. This Raksha is no fool. He'll be waiting for you." The phone went dead. A moment later, it seemed to heat up in his hand, and Vic tossed it away as it burst into flames. It was just like Jackie had described with her phone, and creepy as hell. Certainly, there was no way anyone could have planted any sort of incendiary device in it, since it hadn't been out of his possession in days. 

The flames disappeared almost immediately, before he could even think of running for the fire extinguisher, leaving only a scorch mark on the wall and carpet, and the melted remains of the phone. He crouched down and nudged the lump, but nothing happened. It was just plastic and circuit boards. 

"Vic? What the hell happened?" Vic looked up to find Mac standing over him, a worried expression on his face. 

Vic stood, brushing a bit of soot off his hands as he did. "A call from LiAnn that blew up my cell." 

"LiAnn? Is she okay?" Mac's eyes were wide. 

Vic's first instinct was to say yes, but he held back. "I... don't know. She said she 'dealt' with her issues, but the way she said it... I just don't know." 

"Did she say anything else?" His tone was almost pleading, and Vic fought off a flash of jealousy. He'd never really been able to forget that Mac-and-LiAnn had existed long before Vic-and-LiAnn or Vic-and-Mac. Their life together with the Tangs in Hong Kong gave them a connection that he would never be able to compete with. 

Vic frowned. "She called Sanji a Rashka or Raksha or something. Some sort of demon. He's a shapeshifter—not really news—and he reports to a lord of hell, if you can believe that. She also said he sent her a note written in blood to tell her that he's got Jackie and that he will kill her. Did you find anything out with your... you know?" 

Mac's expression was strained, and he looked tired. "She isn't in Sanji's hands right now, but he's hunting her. She's in wet tunnels that smell, and every so often there's a grill over her head, but she can't get out. Whatever the tunnels are, she can't get out, and he's coming." He shook his head. "Of course, I can't tell for sure that what I saw is real. It could just be my subconscious running away from me." 

Vic worried at his lower lip for a moment. "Yes or no, Mac. Do you think it was real?" Mac opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Your gut feeling," Vic prompted. 

Mac expression tightened, then he nodded decisively. "It was real." Then he sighed. "Of course, I couldn't tell you where it was." 

"Wet tunnels that smell, with grills above. Could you hear traffic?" 

Mac tilted his head to the side. "I think so. Faint, though. Coming through the tunnels, not the grill." 

"Okay." Vic leaned sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his chin on a fist, thinking it through. "Sounds like sewers or something like that. The traffic being faint implies that it's not near any busy streets. And LiAnn said that this Sanji would probably look for something that reminded him of home, and that home is a burnt wreck." He reached for his cell-phone, then remembered that it had been destroyed. He twisted around and grabbed the cordless phone off the bedside table, then dialed a number from memory. 

The phone rang three times, then picked up. "He... Hello?" 

"Nathan? It's Vic. I need some information." 

"V--Vic? I don't know..." 

"No time, Nathan. I need to know anyplace in town that has severe fire damage, low traffic, and possible access to the city's sewer system and I need to know now. Jackie's life is counting on it. How fast can you get me the information?" 

"Ah, actually I can think of one location that might be what you're looking for," Nathan said, his normal stutter fading as he dealt with the one thing he loved: Information. He'd also steadied up a lot since Dobrinsky had taken him under his wing, so to speak, even if he still was obsessed with conspiracy theories of the weirdest sort. "There's an old neighborhood near the warehouse distract, mostly flop-houses and boarded up houses these days. There was a fire last year that they think was arson, although I have my suspicions, and most of the buildings were damaged, if not completely gutted. It's on the old sewer system, too, so the buildings drain pipes go straight to the old storm sewers." 

Vic blinked in surprise at the quick answer, then smiled. "Nathan, I owe you one. Can you give me an address?" 

Nathan rattled off an address that was for an area of town that Vic remembered well from his days as a beat cop just after graduating from the academy. "Do you think it was lava beasts?" Nathan asked eagerly, and Vic had to fight back a laugh. 

"Sorry, Nathan. But we're heading there to find Jackie and the hell demon that kidnapped her." He hung up while Nathan was still spluttering out questions. 

Mac was staring at him with a wary expression on his face. "Do you really believe it was a demon from hell?" he asked. 

Vic shrugged. "That's what LiAnn said. Ready to go?" 

"You think this address is going to be any help?" 

He shrugged again. His neck was aching, and the muscles in his back were tense. "I don't know, but right now, it's the only possibility we've got, and it's better than sitting around here." 

"Point taken," Mac said, heading for the door. 

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Magic was new to LiAnn, but she'd taken to it quickly. Once she would have dismissed it as fantasy, just like she would have ignored the existence of vampires and demons, but in the last year she'd had to grow up a lot. She was no longer the woman she'd been, in more ways than one. San Francisco had shattered many of her illusions about the world she lived in, and her return home to China had shattered the rest. 

Illusions. She used to think she had none. She'd tried to avoid them since the day a man had knocked on the door of the one-room home she'd grown up in and handed her father what she now knew was a pitiful amount of money. She'd cried for her mother as the stranger dragged her away, but her parents had stood in the doorway, dry-eyed, watching her go. Her last sight of home had been of her mother turning around and going back inside while her father counted the bills in his hand. 

And yet now she realized just how many illusions she'd clung to despite that. Look at how long she'd ignored Michael's madness. Look at how she'd convinced herself that she and Vic could settle down and raise a family, complete with the home with a white-picket fence. And look at how she'd managed to avoid seeing the other world that surrounded her. 

No more. Now she experienced the world with all her senses. She lived life to its fullest. 

Amazing how losing her life had been just what she needed to start living again. 

She shook her head, chuckling to herself. What had the Director expected when she sent her to China? 'You have issues that start with your parents. You need to deal with those issues,' the woman had told her. Damned bitch. Did she think that her parents were going to welcome her back with open arms, and everything would be perfect? Oh no. The Tseis had reported their daughter killed by one of the wild animals in the woods near their remote village, and had gotten permission from the government for a second child, the son they'd so desperately wanted. To have their daughter show up proved them liars and frauds. They could have gone to prison, which was nowhere near as pleasant as in Canada or the United States. Her mother would have been sterilized, her father would have been sent to the work camps. 

No, having their daughter reappear was their worst nightmare made flesh, and they'd moved quickly to get rid of the nightmare. Oh, the shock on their faces, though, the second time she'd knocked on their door. Oh, the screams and hysteria. After all, they'd killed her with a machete, then taken her out to the edge of the jungle and left her for the animals. She never should have come back. 

LiAnn smirked to herself. They hadn't been as lucky. 

It hadn't taken her long to find the area of town where Sanji had been living. His kind might be dangerous—look how easily he had seduced then killed Mika—but they could also be very predictable. The burnt skeletons of townhouses that had once been pleasant middle-class homes back at the turn of the century jabbed skyward in silent accusation. She didn't spare them any thought. Their lives had been bought with the deaths of many trees, screaming in agony as metal saws severed their links to the earth. Death bought death, in her books. 

No, the building remains were of no interest to her. Instead she closed her eyes and held her arms out, spinning first slowly, then with greater speed in the middle of the street. If anyone had been around to see, their eyes would have probably bugged out with shock at the sight of a nearly naked barefoot woman whirling like a dervish, ignoring the debris strewn around her. 

Then she slowed, and finally stopped, a wide grin on her face. Oh, yes. The smell of the Raksha was heavy in this place. The smell of sulfur and brimstone overwhelmed the faded soot and ashes of the fires that had destroyed the neighborhood. The death agonies of the people—homeless squatters—who had died in those fires were still fresh, available to those with the will and the desire to harness them, like Sanji. She ignored them. 

The stench was strongest from one building, though. This one was partially intact, the only one with any part of its roof left, so it didn't surprise her much. Stepping over the garbage and debris, she entered the house. 

Yes, this was its lair. The place stank of death and despair. Her lips drew back into a sneer as she began to search the ruin for her prey. 

Tonight, it ended. 

* * *

Pausing to rest for a moment, Jackie had the sinking feeling that she was going in circles. Every single intersection seemed identical to the last one, and the sounds of traffic never seemed to get any louder. Every choice seemed worse than the last. And there was never an exit. Just tantalizing promises of grates overhead, always just out of reach or so tightly welded that they couldn't be opened. And she'd never mastered the ability to walk through dirt. The night was half-gone, and she was in deep trouble. 

She could still hear Sanji following her, too far away to hear what he was saying, but close enough to recognize the mocking tone in his voice. And yet he never seemed to get any closer. She'd finally realized just what was happening: This was a setup. He'd planned for her to try to escape. Now she was in his territory, and he was playing with her, like a cat with a mouse. The only reason he hadn't found her yet was he wasn't tired of the game yet. 

But eventually he _would_ get tired, and when that happened... Well, she wasn't sure what would happen next, but she had the feeling that she wasn't going to like it. 

But people were looking for her. Vic had been trying to call her when Sanji grabbed her. He had to know she was missing. And if he knew, then the Agency was hunting for her. She held onto that thought, even though realistically she knew that there was little chance of her partners finding her. All she could do was keep running, and hope that Vic and Mac, or maybe even LiAnn, would find her before Sanji did. 

A low chuckle from somewhere behind her jolted her out of her thoughts, and she pushed away from the slime-covered wall, already moving again. Her feet were aching, her shoes being long gone, and she no longer noticed when a small furry form brushed past her leg. All she could do was keep moving and keep hoping. 

But hope was fading fast. 

* * *

The area of town they ended up in was depressingly close to where Mac had had his run-in with the mugger the other night. He hadn't asked anyone what had happened to the man yet, and he wasn't sure he was going to. He didn't think he really wanted to know. 

But in this area, their car was going to stand out like a sore thumb. Even locked, it was an open invitation to be stolen. Of course the Agency would quickly retrieve it, but it would be a hassle. 

But hassles weren't a consideration right then. The only thing that counted was finding Jackie and getting her out in one piece. After that, dealing with Sanji, preferably permanently, was the second priority. And then there was LiAnn to think about. 

His stomach clenched as he got out of the car. From what little they knew, it sounded like LiAnn wasn't exactly the person he remembered anymore, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Sure, he wasn't exactly the same person he'd been a year ago, even without the whole vampire thing going, but still, LiAnn _never_ changed. It was one of the most comforting things about her. Now he wasn't sure what she was anymore, and that scared him. It scared him even more than the day he'd realized that his adoptive brother, Michael, was a psychopath. 

Vic was standing in the middle of the street, sniffing the air. Mac followed his example, but while his sense of smell was much more acute than it used to be, he wasn't sure how to interpret what his nose was picking up. All he could do was sneeze and wrinkle his nose at the stench. It wasn't a normal stench; that was all he could tell. "So now what?" he asked. 

"That pendant of yours giving you any information?" Vic asked, scanning the street. Mac sighed. 

"Nothing. Of course, I don't have a clue how it works or what it can do, other than giving vague images of things that only might be happening." He growled low in his throat, frustrated by the vagueness of it all. 

"Then we do this the hard way." 

Vic headed over to the side of the road to one of the drains down to the storm sewers. Definitely too small for either of them to fit through. Luckily, the things were designed so that in the case of trouble, city workers could get into them. At the end of the street, right before the intersection, was an access grate. 

Vic bent down and hooked his fingers into the holes that were probably intended for some sort of small crane, since the manhole cover was solid metal and looked pretty damned heavy. He squatted, then heaved, every tendon in his neck standing out in stark relief. The cover didn't move. 

Mac knelt down, and the two of them scraped at the edges of the manhole cover. It didn't take long to find out what the problem was. "Welded shut," Mac said, grimacing. 

"And in the not too distant past," Vic added. The welds were still slightly shiny, saying that this wasn't something that had been done years earlier. In fact, it had to have been since the fire that had destroyed the neighborhood. "I'd say this clinches it. We're in the right place." 

"Yeah, but how the hell do we get down there?" Mac asked, slapping his palm against the metal. He winced, and shook the hand briefly to get rid of the sting. 

"The hard way," Vic said with a feral grin. He got to his feet and headed for the car. Mac watched, puzzled, as the man pulled out a black bag and came back. 

"What's that?" he asked, nodding towards what looked like any ordinary gym bag. It even had the logo for one of the big health club chains printed on its side. Cheap, and just like a thousand others in the city. 

"This is why I wanted to stop at the Agency on our way here," Vic said with a grin. He unzipped the bag and started pulling out bits and pieces. Explosive pieces. 

"Perfect," Mac said, the corners of his mouth pulling up. Big explosions still brought back the occasional bad memory, but little ones? Those were just fun. And right now, an explosion suited his mood. 

The stuff Vic had in his bag looked like silly putty and behaved like silly putty, but it was better than any commercial explosive on the market. It was one of the Agency's inventions, and even the best sniffer dog would ignore it. An explosives expert wouldn't recognize it, unless, of course, he worked for the Agency. Totally inert, unless you had the right kind of detonator. They spread it around the cover, between the metal and the surrounding pavement, then Vic set the pencil-sized detonator, pressed it into the putty, and they ran for cover. 

The explosion was relatively quiet, as explosions went, but it was still pretty loud. The fact that no one showed up to investigate confirmed what Mac's senses had already been telling him: There was no one in the area. At least, no one alive. As for Sanji, if he was around, he wasn't paying any attention to them. 

The manhole cover hit the pavement about thirty feet away with a satisfying clang that was even louder than the explosion had been, and when they approached the gapping hole where it had been, they could see down to the bottom where a small amount of water was sitting, stagnant. Mac wrinkled his nose. "God, it stinks down there," he muttered more to himself than to Vic. 

"Yeah, well you're the one who thinks Jackie is down there, so get your ass down that hole." 

Mac grinned. "You say the sweetest things," and blew Vic a kiss before swinging his legs into the hole and reaching for the ladder that led down into the darkness. 

* * *

The muffled sound of an explosion brought Jackie's head up. What it meant, she didn't have a clue. All she knew at that point was that she trapped in a maze. Her suspicions from earlier had been confirmed. This was the third time she'd found a tunnel that was blocked, either by metal gates or a collapse. She had a sinking feeling that the only way out of the maze was the same way she'd come in: through Sanji's lair. Hell, she was ready to risk even _that_ , if she could just find the right damn tunnel. 

She set aside another chunk of concrete, her hands filthy and bleeding from the sharp edges. After finding the cave-in, she'd decided to see if she could clear it, but it didn't look like she was going to be able to get through before Sanji found her. In fact, she better get moving if she didn't want him to catch up with her. His voice was getting closer and closer. 

Damn, she was getting tired. It was almost tempting not to move. She could just wait there for him. Wait for whatever it was he planned to do. 

Like hell. She gritted her teeth and started walking again. 

* * *

Finding the entrance to the tunnel system was easy. She closed her mortal eyes and opened her third eye, and the corrupt energies almost glowed to her inner sight, with a dark malevolence that seemed to pulse, it was so strong. Inside the house that she had already identified as its lair, it led her to the basement and a tunnel. Closing her third eye, she took a deep breath, then nodded in satisfaction. It wasn't just the demon's scent; she could also smell Jackie's scent leading into the tunnel. 

The heat inside the tunnels was incredible, and there was enough water in the tunnels—storm sewers, from the look of them—to add a pleasant humidity to the air. It wasn't quite the same as the jungles she now thought of as home, but it was a pleasant reminder. She'd only been there for a couple months before being given the task of hunting the Raksha down for the crime of killing her queen's chosen heir, but the jungle was already more home than anyplace else in her life, including Hong Kong, Vancouver, and Toronto. And when she had the demon's head, she could go back, her position guaranteed. However, if she didn't kill it, she would never be allowed to return, and that was unthinkable. 

She wasn't going to fail. 

Once she was into the tunnels, though, the trail became confused. The demon's mark was everywhere, and Jackie's trail also was confused. Added to that, no sooner had she moved past the entry, it disappeared. A simple magical trick, but very effective. If she needed to leave by that route, she would have to concentrate very hard to see through the illusion, and for that time, she would be vulnerable. Fortunately, she wasn't limited to that one path. 

But for the time being, with no clear sign of what path to take, she set out at random, searching. Eventually she would find either the Raksha or Jackie, and if she found Jackie, the Raksha would not be far behind. 

That was when she heard the muffled thump of an explosion. Sounded like her former partners had decided to join the party. 

LiAnn grinned and quickened her steps, gliding over the scummy water, leaving nothing, not even a ripple, in her wake. 

* * *

Down in the tunnels, Vic couldn't shake the feeling that he should be sweating, something he hadn't done since his Embrace. The sewer system was dark, hot, and humid, all elements that would make for a nightmare if he'd been asleep. Unfortunately, this was no nightmare. It was all too real. 

A stench filled the narrow space. It wasn't just the smell of decay coming from the stagnant water and the slime and mildew growing on the tunnel walls. There was another stench underneath the expected smells that made him want to sneeze. A stench that made his skin crawl. He forced back the sneeze, and gestured for Mac to stay quiet. 

The silence was deafening at first. Then his ears adjusted, and wasn't silent anymore: No city was every truly silent, even after midnight. Water dripped, and somewhere, faintly, a horn honked. Something squeaked, and skittered away through the muck. Probably a rat. And there were footsteps, too unfocused to tell where they were coming from. Footsteps and a voice calling out. He couldn't tell where it was coming from either, but it seemed stronger from one direction. 

He nodded to Mac, raising a finger to his lips, and they set out down the tunnel, as silently as they could. He had his gun in one hand, and a silver dagger in the other. He wasn't sure that either would work against a demon, but hey, it was worth a try. 

* * *

Jackie came face to face with another dead end that she was certain hadn't been there before and had to fight back the tears. The grate above her head mocked her. It seemed like nearly every turn she took was now a dead end, even when she was certain that she'd been down that way before. The tunnels were an ever-changing maze that was closing in on her. A rat in a maze; that's what she was. 

She turned, and she slipped on something slick. Her ankle twisted, and she heard a crack. She cried out at the sharp pain and collapsed to her knees. This time she wasn't able to hold back, and tears flooded her eyes, spilling down her cheeks to drip from the edge of her jaw. She tried to push back to her feet, but collapsed again. There was nowhere to go and no way that her broken ankle was going to support her. 

"The game is over, little night-walker." 

Jackie brushed one filthy hand over her face, wiping away tears, and looked up to find Sanji standing at the end of the passage where she'd come from. He'd been waiting for this, she was sure. Waiting for her to give up. Waiting for her to despair. The expression of his face was pure glee. 

The tears stopped, and she pushed again. This time she made it to her feet. Well, one foot. The broken one she held up off the ground, trying not to jar it. The pain was almost unbearable, but if the bastard was going to kill her, at least she would meet death on her feet, not her knees. 

Sanji smiled. "You have courage, I'll give you that. Most prey gives up long before this. In fact, some of them don't even bother to try to escape at all. Mere sheep, good for nothing but the slaughter. Join me," he urged, stepping forward. She hopped backwards carefully, and he stopped. "Together we could bring fire and death to this world. It's inevitable, you know it is. Revel in it!" 

Jackie shook her head. "I don't think so," she said softly, but firmly. She wasn't tempted in the least. Sanji was charming, definitely attractive, but now that she was looking for it, there was definitely an edge to his voice that hinted at madness. Not the almost cheerful madness of her clan, but the kind that let him torture his prey. No Kindred that she knew would go to the extremes of setting up this underground system just to play with their prey before killing them, unless they were Sabbat. 

Sanji obviously could see her resolve, and he looked almost sad, although Jackie didn't buy it for a minute. She didn't really think he would have done all this if he was really serious about getting her to join with him. It was just another part of his game. Another way to raise her hopes, then destroy them, before he killed her. 

Then the grin was back, and he started to walk forward, his form shifting with every step until what was left was large and covered with fur, with fangs and claws and a long tail lashing behind him. It didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before, and she really hoped that she would never see anything like it again. Of course, he was also probably going to be the last thing she saw. 

She scooted backwards until her back hit the tunnel wall. Her foot felt like it was on fire, but she didn't even notice. All she saw was her death coming for her. 

That was when something hit the beast from behind, driving it to the ground, and knocking her backwards so that her head hit the tunnel wall hard enough to nearly knock her senseless, and the last thing she heard for a while was the sound of part of the tunnel collapsing in on itself, trapping them. 

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Vic was using every ounce of the tracking skills that had been drilled into him by Moira and her clan, often backed up with blows and snarls about how worthless he was for not figuring them out on his own like a _true_ Gangrel, to track their quarry through the endless maze of tunnels. They were far more extensive than they should have been, but all looked to be about the same age, and he wondered just who the hell had built them and why. They certainly hadn't been dug by the city. 

The problem was, there wasn't a real trail to follow. The scents were everywhere, and when he tried to focus on just Jackie, he found that her trail was all over the place, crossing over itself time and again. It was like she was going around in circles, or something. It was frustrating. Unfortunately, it was what he was stuck with, so he did his best. 

Bit by bit, the trail was getting fresher, though, even though he still had no idea if they were getting any closer. But he was sure that sooner or later, they would find Jackie. He just hoped that she would still be in one piece when they did. 

The roar, bouncing off the tunnels walls until it was unbearable, caught them off-guard, and he stumbled to a halt, his hands pressed to his ears. Behind him, he dimly heard Mac yelling, "What the hell is that?" but he didn't have any answers for his partner. Whatever it was, it was large, it was angry, and he had a sinking feeling that it was what they were looking for. Suddenly, a gun and a dagger didn't seem like enough. 

Once the echoes had died away, they could hear the sounds of fighting, and this time, they could tell that it was coming from in front of them. Abandoning tracking techniques and caution, they ran. 

* * *

If it wasn't for the broken ankle, Jackie would have been running as fast as she could. While she was more than happy that the beast's attention had been diverted from her, she really didn't want to be this close to the fight between it and... Well, she wasn't exactly sure what it was fighting. Everything was a blur from when she hit the wall. 

Bit by bit, her vision did start to clear, though. But when she saw what was going on, she wasn't so sure that was a good thing. The creature she'd known as Sanji was even bigger now. Its claws looked like they were easily a foot long, and razor sharp. The fur covering it was an inky black that almost made him vanish in the dark tunnel. The eyes were red. And they burned. Jackie whimpered, and pressed a little tighter against the wall. 

And as for what it was fighting... 

It was LiAnn. At least she assumed it was LiAnn. It looked like LiAnn, although she'd never thought of the prim Asian woman as being the type to go into battle nearly naked, armed only with teeth and claws. Of course, she'd never thought of LiAnn as the type to go to bed with a woman, let alone fuck her raw. And when did LiAnn grow claws anyway? 

Jackie's jaw dropped at the ferocity of the battle in front of her, wondering just what the hell had happened to LiAnn in China. She definitely wasn't the woman she'd been before. In a fight, she'd used guns, or occasionally martial arts. Elegant. Simple. Quick. This fight was anything but. 

Jackie ducked, but not fast enough to avoid having blood splash across her cheek. When she looked up again, the battle was still raging, but Sanji was missing a chunk of its upper... arm, for lack of a better term. But it wasn't the only one bleeding. A set of parallel gashes—claw marks, she noted in a strange calm—cut deep into LiAnn's belly. A human would have been curled up on the ground, trying to hold their guts in. Hell, a _vampire_ would have been doing the same. LiAnn, on the other hand, didn't even seem to notice. Instead, she seemed intent on doing even more damage to the beast, and from what little Jackie could see, she was succeeding. 

But the beast wasn't giving up either. It fought with a viciousness that would have been impressive if it wasn't so terrifying. 

* * *

They took three wrong turns before finally finding the right trail, and by that point Mac was cursing under his breath. It was a good thing that he didn't have to sweat anymore, since otherwise he would be swimming in it. It was hot in the tunnels, and it stinked. And he didn't even want to _think_ about the other things running around with them. After all, he prided himself on being trendy and urbane, and those terms did not go with his current location. 

On the other hand, he'd be damned if he was going to let _any_ of his partners get killed if he could stop it. Sure, Jackie was annoying as hell, and he still owed her for the shot in the alley, back when he'd run into her the first time after she'd joined the Agency. Of course, he hadn't known about that: as far as he'd been concerned, she was a con who was supposed to still be in jail. He'd hurt like hell the next day, and the bruises had taken nearly two weeks to go away. Of course, now he knew that she'd been Kindred at the time—the reason she'd been carefully keeping to shadows on a cloudy day—which explained why she'd been able to do so much damage. The only thing that still confused him was the fact that she'd even been awake at all, no matter how close to sunset it had been. 

Distracted, he nearly plowed into Vic's back when the other man stopped unexpectedly. He moved to the side to see what had stopped the man. A rock fall, and the sound of fighting was coming from the other side, punctuated by the occasional, and very non-human, roar. 

"Start digging," Vic said, already grabbing a chunk of broken concrete. Mac matched him, stone for stone. Side by side, they dug as fast as they could, driven by desperation. 

* * *

LiAnn laughed loudly as she struck another blow, and the Raksha lost another chunk of flesh. That wouldn't slow it down, unfortunately. Demon kind were notoriously had to kill, even more so that the Kuei-jin. She would need to do a lot more damage before she even slowed it down. And it didn't help that she was taking it on with her bare hands. Of course, she wouldn't have it any other way. There was something so... satisfying about sinking teeth or claws into flesh and rending it apart. Blood dripping, hot and satisfying. 

Oh yes, bloody mayhem was something that would take many years for her to experience, in all its possible forms. 

Jackie was still in one piece, she was pleased to see. She and the blonde had never gotten along well, before, but she knew now that it was because of envy. Jackie thoroughly enjoyed her life—or maybe that was her unlife. LiAnn had always been too concerned about protecting herself from being hurt to really allow herself to enjoy anything, even her lovers. One of the many things she'd been working at changing. 

But it was obvious that while the pretty blonde was still moving, she wasn't completely unhurt. Her foot was bent at an awkward angle, which meant she wasn't getting out of there under her own power, and while she didn't normally care what happened to her lovers after she was done with them—the Raksha killing them was more an annoyance than anything else —she really did want Jackie to survive this. 

Unfortunately, the Raksha seemed to pick up on that, and it actually split its attention, trying to simultaneously hold her off while going after Jackie. LiAnn blocked the attempt, removing another chunk of flesh from the creature, with a laugh. If it was stupid enough to give her openings, she was going to take them. She liked being underestimated. It gave her an edge. The Raksha also didn't expect the chunk of concrete that Jackie grabbed and threw with speed and strength to strike it in the back of his head, giving LiAnn the perfect shot. 

She went for the eyes, but this time the Raksha got in a lucky shot, and she hit the tunnel wall hard enough to disorient her for a moment. The demon bellowed its victory—a little premature in her opinion—and attacked, but she rolled out of its way, sweeping up with nails that had extended into claws, aiming for the relatively vulnerable groin area. Its bellow of pain almost drowned out the sound of rock against rock, but not quite. 

Turning her head slightly as she leapt out of the way, she saw a portion of the cave-in fall away. It looked like the boys had arrived. 

* * *

When Vic pulled away one last stone, the rest came tumbling down, like an arch with the keystone removed. The space on the other side wasn't any better lit than the section that they were in, but there was some faint light coming from above, which combined with Kindred sight to make the scene clear to him. Jackie was at the other end of the tight space, her back pressed against a wall. In between was LiAnn, and something that looked like every nightmare he'd ever had, all wrapped up in one. 

The sound of falling stones seemed to distract the creature. It turned towards them, and Vic's heart jumped into his throat. The creature's eyes were glowing with fire, and even though the form was nothing like the one he'd worn before, he recognized those eyes from the film of the alley the night that the boy was killed. This was their killer, beyond a doubt. 

The only question was, now what did they do? 

LiAnn seemed to have an idea, though, and she took advantage it to leap on the creature's back, her long fingernails—claws?—reaching for its eyes. It bellowed, and threw itself backwards at a wall, crushing LiAnn between itself and the concrete. She dropped. 

Reacting on instinct, Vic emptied his gun into the creature, and Mac did the same from beside him. The sound of gunfire was obscenely loud in the small space. 

No effect. The creature just shrugged off the bullets and laughed, an eerie sound that made every hair on Vic's body stand on end. 

But it didn't attack again. Maybe it didn't like the four on one odds. Jackie was down and out, but she was still fighting. The tunnel floor was littered with chunks of concrete and other, less identifiable, material, and she was throwing them with everything she had while she worked at dragging herself around the edges of the space, heading for the gap in the cave-in. And LiAnn... Well, after the slam, she should have been severely injured, if not dead, but she was already shaking her head and pushing to her feet. 

"This isn't over," the creature hissed, raising its arms, chanting softly in a language Vic didn't recognize. 

The tunnel was dark, although not completely to Kindred eyes, but suddenly the darkness took on a shape, a form. It collected in the corners, then pressed forward, moving towards the creature, pooling in its hands. Vic swallowed hard. 

"Like hell it is," LiAnn snarled, and leapt onto the creature's back, clawing at its eyes and throat, but from what Vic could see, she wasn't getting far. And he knew she was right. Either it ended there, or there was going to be more deaths in his city. They couldn't afford to let the whatever the hell it was get away. 

Bullets obviously weren't going to do any good, so he tossed his gun away and switched his dagger to his other hand. The blade was nearly a foot long and razor sharp, a left-over from the days just after he got out of jail and was still waiting for his old cop brothers to come after him. Or maybe he was still deciding whether or not he was going to go after them. Whatever the situation, knives were quieter than guns, and having a knife could be passed off as a cooking utensil. In fact, that was exactly what he used it as these days, if he used it at all. However, after his introduction to the things that go bump in the night, he'd had the blade coated in a thin layer of silver, just in case. 

He reached down, deep inside of himself, looking for the beast that no longer scared him the way it had when he'd first changed. Now he knew that he could control it, use it. 

Immediately, everything sharpened, brightened. His vision shifted slightly, and he could see heat, although it was nothing like the infrared goggles that were available. If pressed, he wouldn't be able to describe just how it was that he saw it. He just did. And the creature... it flared brighter than anything else in the area. 

He could also feel bones stretching, elongating, and his fangs dropped, filling his mouth, even though he had no intention of biting the creature. He had the feeling that its blood would probably be toxic as far as he was concerned. Then he crouched down, coiling himself up to jump. 

The darkness was swirling faster now, and there were flashes of light from it, like a sick sort of lightening. His stomach turned every time he caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eyes, and he didn't want to know what it was doing. Only problem, how to stop it. With any luck, killing this thing that he assumed was Sanji would stop what was happening. Of course, killing it was the tricky part. 

With the creature distracted by LiAnn, Vic waited for just the right moment. 

Then jumped. 

* * *

Jackie couldn't do much for the fight, but the tunnel floor was littered with chunks of broken concrete, some of it with pretty sharp edges. Every time she saw an opening, she grabbed one, threw it at Sanji with all her strength, then pulled herself towards the next chunk, gradually working her way towards the gap in the rubble that Vic and Mac had made. She didn't have a clue how they had found her, but she was ready to cry with relief. She really needed to do something nice for those two. 

Of course, that assumed that they survived this whole business, and right then, that wasn't a given. 

Then Sanji started chanting under his breath, and the shadows suddenly came alive. One piece of shadow actually touched her, and she jerked away with a small cry. For a moment, her blood ran first cold, then hotter than it ever had, even back when she'd been alive. She also had a brief glimpse of a city that was more wreck than anything else, under an artificial sky, and it terrified her beyond reason. 

They needed to get out of there, and _fast_. But after her close encounter with the shadow, she'd gone completely numb. She couldn't move a muscle. 

That was when Vic dropped his gun and jumped at Sanji, a wicked looking dagger in his hand. Both he and LiAnn were carving away at the beast, and yet it was still chanting, still fighting. They weren't going to make it, she suddenly realized. 

* * *

Mac was fighting the urge to just turn around and run. He prided himself on having guts, and the street smarts to deal with just about anything, but this Sanji thing was like nothing he'd ever dealt with, and hoped he would never deal with again. Seeing it on the security camera was bad enough. The image that he'd sketched to prove that he'd had the vision he'd said he'd had was even worse. This was... He shivered, and fought to keep from whimpering. For a moment, he felt like a complete coward. 

That ended the moment that Vic went after the oversized furball with just a dagger in his hand. He was still terrified, but now it was for a completely different reason. He'd already lost two partners—Michael and, it seemed, LiAnn—and he'd be damned if he was going to loose another. Either of them. 

He still had his gun, but it had been pretty damned useless so far. He was no slouch at target shooting, and at this range with a target this large, there was no way in hell that either one of them had missed the ravening beast. They'd emptied two clips, and the damned thing had just shrugged off the slugs. And from the look of it, LiAnn's claws—what the hell had she become?—and Vic's oversized filleting knife didn't seem to be doing much better. Despite the fact that the ground was now splattered with blood and chunks of monster, it was still going. 

And now the shadows were getting into the act. One of them brushed past Jackie, and she screamed, piercingly loud, before she collapsed. He wasn't sure what the moving darkness had done to her, and he knew that he really didn't want to find out first hand. Unfortunately, he probably would—they all would—unless they managed to stop whatever the furball was doing. 

But if what LiAnn and Vic were doing wasn't doing any good, what could he do? 

Suddenly realizing that he was still hovering in the space in the cave-in that they'd cleared out, while Vic was on the other side, along with Jackie and LiAnn, he started to push through. If they were going to die, then damnit, the were going to die together. That was when the bag over his shoulder caught on a chunk of concrete. He'd forgotten that he was carrying it. Then he remembered just _what_ he was carrying. 

Vic's duffle bag. The one with the explosives in it. Knowing Vic, he hadn't used all of them to get the manhole cover open either. 

It would have been too risky to use explosives on the caved-in tunnel, and it was probably too risky to use them now. On the other hand, if they didn't, they would all be dead, and Sanji would get away, continue killing. He knew that as certainly as he knew his own name. The pendant burning against his chest was telling him this. 

Mac dropped the bag on the ground and pulled it open. Lots of silly putty and five more detonators, along with spare clips for their guns, a cell phone, probably fully charged, a GPS locator, and even a couple of hand grenades, of all things. Vic Mansfield, over-grown boy scout. Be prepared. 

He grabbed a wedge of putty large enough to blow up a minivan, considered the creature that had just thrown Vic into a wall, then doubled it. He set a detonator to ten seconds—the smallest amount of time he thought was workable—jammed it into the putty, then jumped. 

The wad of explosives went down the furball's throat. It actually swallowed, which was good, since that meant it couldn't spit it out again. Then Mac went flying. "Run!" he yelled, then went for Jackie. His first instinct was to grab Vic, but Jackie couldn't walk, and Vic... Vic could take care of himself, he promised himself. 

Jackie seemed almost fragile in his arms as he dove through the gap in the rubble, and around the nearest corner. The explosion was deafening in the confined area, and he covered her, protecting her from flying debris and the flames that made him wonder for a moment if they were going to survive. It was just like the warehouse, all over again. Him, Vic, and LiAnn all running for their lives, knowing that they weren't going to make it, certain that this was it, they were going to die. Maybe that death had just been delayed a little. 

Then the roar faded. The debris was still raining down on them, and Jackie was clinging to him hard, shaking like she was going to fall apart. And if he was being honest, Mac was shaking just as hard. 

Finally, the rain of concrete and dust died down to nothing, and Mac lifted his head and looked around. 

The first thing he saw was Vic, pushing himself to his knees. Dust had turned him to a uniform grey, other than the few slow trickles blood coming from cuts and scrapes, none of them too serious. He was the best thing that Mac could ever remember seeing in his life. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, but he couldn't even hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears. 

Vic winced, and shook his head, sending a spray of dust all over the place. "Are you all right?" he yelled. Mac could barely hear him. 

Instead of yelling back and feeling like an idiot, he settled for just nodding, then turning his attention to Jackie. 

The blonde still had a death grip on his shirt, but other than that, she wasn't moving. Tears were running down her face, and he wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth gently. "It's okay, everything's okay, you're safe now," he whispered, even though she probably couldn't hear him. 

Vic got to his feet and moved to the opening in the rubble. The ringing in Mac's ears was already starting to fade, letting him hear the gentle plink of bits of debris still falling to the ground. Mac stood up and followed Vic, Jackie still clinging to him and hopping along on one leg, her broken foot held up off the ground and most of her weight resting on him. 

The hole they'd cleared was even larger now, and not too stable looking either. The air on the other side was full of dust, making it impossible to see anything. Mac wanted to call LiAnn's name, but he didn't dare. The explosion had to have killed the whatever-the-hell-it-was—he still shied away from calling it a demon—but part of him still wasn't willing to take the chance. 

Something was moving in the haze. Mac's spirits lifted for a moment. Then he realized that it was too large. 

"Shit! What does it take to kill this thing!" 

"More than you've got, little boy." The voice boomed through the space, but it seemed to Mac that the critter wasn't moving as fast as before. He'd hurt it, maybe even badly, but it had taken most of the explosives. They just didn't have anything left to throw at the thing. 

"Move!" Vic shouted, pushing him out of the way of the charging beast. Then something dropped from the ceiling—or was that _out_ of the ceiling?—and landed on the creature's back. The figure was barely recognizable as LiAnn, and Mac wondered just what the hell had happened to her in China. What was she? 

While they watched in shock, she wrapped her arm around the creature's neck and... 

Twisted. 

The head separated from the shoulders with a moist, sickening sound that made Mac ill. A moment later, the body hit the ground with a thump so massive that another cloud of dust and debris was raised. LiAnn stood there, over the body, the head raised high, and made a high ululating sound that reminded Mac of the Xena television show. It raised the hair on the back of his neck, and Jackie winced against him. 

"LiAnn..." Mac stopped, not quite sure what he was going to say. 

LiAnn turned to them, and smiled. "Hello, Mac." 

"Welcome home?" he said hesitantly, still keeping one eye on the body. It looked dead, but right then, he didn't trust appearances. 

LiAnn's smile turned feral, and for a moment her eyes glowed. "This isn't home, Mac. It never was." 

That brought his attention fully to her"You're leaving, aren't you?" He swallowed hard. He'd expected it, but still... it hurt. 

Her expression gentled. "I've found the place I belong, Mac, just like you. I came back for one thing, and I have it now." She held up the head, blood and gore dripping from the neck, and Mac flinched. "What you are and what I am, there's no common ground anymore. But I'll remember you fondly. All of you." 

"Will we ever see you again?" Surprisingly enough, the unhappy question had come from Jackie. One night of... well, one night seemed to have managed to erase all the hostility that had been between the two women since Jackie's recruitment. 

"Not if you're lucky. Take my advice. Stay away from Asia. There's nothing for you there except true death." 

With that, LiAnn stepped backwards slowly until she reached the wall. But she didn't stop there, and a moment later, she was gone from sight, passing through the concrete as if it weren't there. 

"Okay, that was neat," Jackie said. She shifted her weight, then cried out in pain. "Um, guys, can we get out of here? I could use a doctor and a shower, not necessarily in that order. I swear, if I never see a sewer again, it'll be too soon." 

Mac glanced over at Vic. Vic was staring at the wall with a wistful expression. "Vic?" 

Vic blinked, then gave a shake. "Uh, yeah. Right. We should head to the Agency, file a report." 

"It's over?" 

Vic walked over to the headless form lying on the ground and nudged it with his foot. It didn't move, and he was barely able to shift it at all. "It's over," he said firmly. "All that's left is the clean-up, I think." 

Clean-up. The Director would arrange for the body to be disposed of—assuming that she ever showed up again—by people who could be trusted with this. It would disappear, much the way McKenzie's body had probably already disappeared. The Agency was very good at making things they didn't want known about go away. And then... And then this would all officially never have happened. 

Mac carefully pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on helping Jackie hop over the debris, while Vic went ahead, figuring out the best way out. 

It was over. 

* * *

**Epilogue**

After what seemed like forever, the heat wave finally broke, bringing with it cooler air and rain. In fact, it had been raining for three days straight, and was expected to continue for at least another two. No one in Toronto seemed to be complaining, though. At least, not yet. 

* * *

Vic stretched under the hot spray of the shower, enjoying the lingering ache of muscles well-used, quickly fading. The last few weeks had been hellish, with little time left over for themselves. Didn't help that they were dead to the world during daylight hours, either. But things would be better come winter, even if the weather wasn't. The nights would be longer, at least. 

But the time off had definitely been welcome. At the end of the case, the Director, who had reappeared, had shocked them all by giving them a week off. The first night, he and Mac hadn't even made it out of bed, except to eat. Instead, they'd indulged in marathon sessions of sex, with interludes where they just cuddled. That was nice, after their close call. If Mac hadn't thought of using the explosives, they'd be dead right now, and the demon would still be killing. 

The second night, they'd forced themselves to get dressed and watch the news. They'd even gone out for a little while, just to feel the rain on their faces. McKenzie's disappearance had made the papers, but not the nightly news, and no one had come asking them questions, so it looked like they'd managed to dodge the bullet on that one. It didn't mean that they were completely off the hook, though. Their run-in with the obnoxious Homicide detective had reminded him that there were still people on the force that hated him, and would cheerfully see him dead. Maybe it was time to talk to the Director about leaving town. Sooner or later, someone was going to come after him and either succeed, or put him back behind bars again, even though it would probably make for bad publicity after they'd admitted to sending him to jail for a crime he didn't commit once before. 

"Vic?" 

Vic turned off the shower and reached for a towel. "Yeah?" he asked, stepping out of the shower, rubbing his hair. Silence answered him. "Mac?" he asked, pulling the towel off his head. Mac was leaning against the doorframe with a silly grin on his face, and his eyes definitely weren't on Vic's face. "Earth to Mac," he said in a sing-song tone. 

"Huh? Oh." Mac shook his head and stood up straight. "I need to head out for a while." 

Vic finally noticed that Mac was fully dressed and ready to head out the door. "Will you be long?" 

Mac shrugged. "I doubt it. A couple hours, maybe." 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, a classic 'I'm up to something' move. Vic frowned, wondering if he should call the man on it. Then he decided not to. Trust was important, between both partners and lovers. Besides, he wasn't sure that he really wanted to know. "Fine. I've got a few things to do myself. Call me when you're done and we can go check out that new Blues club downtown." 

Mac rolled his eyes. "Why can't you develop a taste for _good_ music?" he groused. 

"Like the stuff _you_ listen to?" Vic teased back. Mac stuck out his tongue. 

"All right. Blues tonight, club of my choice tomorrow." 

"Deal." 

The started at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. "We are such an old married couple," Mac said as he brushed a few non-existent tears away. 

"Hard to believe, isn't it." 

"Are you kidding? A year ago, I would have run away screaming at the thought of settling down with anyone, let alone you." 

Vic snorted. "And what about Claire? Don't forget, you were going to marry her." 

"Don't remind me," Mac said sourly. "Call it a mid-life crisis a couple decades early." 

"Well, you've already done the sports car, so why not?" 

Mac shook his head, then grabbed Vic and pulled him in for a kiss. "I have ever told you how annoying you are?" 

Vic grinned. "Same to you. I'll see you later." 

For a moment Mac looked confused, as if he'd forgotten what he'd been talking about earlier. Then the smile was back. "Count on it," he said. 

When Mac was gone, Vic quickly dried off and got dressed. He hadn't been lying about having something to do, but he still felt a little worried about letting Mac go running around on his own. The last time he'd done that, he'd ended up on the wrong side of town killing someone. Mac hadn't asked, but Vic had: The mugger had died of his injuries nearly two days after his run-in with Mac. Dobrinsky had made sure that there was nothing to tie the dead creep to Mac, for which Vic was grateful. But as long as Mac didn't want to know about the man, Vic wasn't about to tell him. Despite his devil-may-care attitude, Mac had some deeply held morals, and one of those was that he didn't kill except in self- defense. Knowing that he had beat a man to depth would take him a long time to recover from. 

But still, if he tried to tie Mac to his side, the younger man would quickly rebel. Mac might be willing to commit, but only to a certain point. If he pushed to far, Mac would run. Or push him away. 

Dressed, he grabbed the box that had been delivered that day and headed for the door. The air outside was crisp and clean, and he enjoyed it. The heat wave hadn't been as bad for them as for the regular citizens of Toronto, but it had been bad enough. The rain had stopped for the moment, and the scent of wet earth and leaves made him think of wide open spaces, and running without a care in the world. It reminded him of childhood summers and trips to the lake. Mac, on the other hand, was a city boy, but maybe he'd be willing to consider a camping trip sometime soon. 

The streets around the Agency's headquarters were quiet, and his was the only car in the parking lot. He grabbed the box and went inside, heading for the elevators. 

"If you're looking for the Director, she isn't here. And you shouldn't be either." 

Somehow, he managed to keep from jumping out of his skin at the sound of Dobrinsky's voice. "That's nice," he said, noncommittally, wondering where the woman had disappeared to this time. It used to be that she almost lived here. Now it was Dobrinsky who ran the place, more times than not. It was like she was disassociating herself from the job. "But I'm just here to drop something off. I'll be out of your hair quickly. Wait. You don't _have_ any hair. Sorry." 

Dobrinsky rolled his eyes. "You've been hanging around Mac too much, Sport." 

Vic grinned wickedly. "Yep, he's rubbing off on me, you could say." 

Dobrinsky closed his eyes for a moment, wearing a pained expression. Then, knowing better than to give him another opening, the man turned and walked away. Vic snickered. Mac was right; Dobrinsky-baiting could be a lot of fun. 

The elevator took him down to the records level. The place was looked empty, with the dim lights and row after row of shelves full of dusty tomes. The smell of dust was heavy in the air. 

"Vic!" 

Vic turned at the sound of his name being called. "Careena," he said, tensing slightly. 

"Where's your partner?" she asked, putting a wealth of innuendo into the word. She had a pile of file folders in her arms, and her glasses were perched low on her nose so that she could peer over the tops of them flirtatiously. 

"Out. We're meeting later." 

"Really? You know, I hear there's a new blues club that opened a week or so ago. We could..." She brushed past Vic, even though there was plenty of room to get past him without the contact. 

"I'm meeting Mac there," Vic said, stepping back. 

Careena stopped and frowned at him. "You know, Vic, I thought—" 

Vic cut her off with a raised hand. "And a couple of years ago you would have been right. But a lot of things have changed since them, me included. It isn't going to happen now, Careena." 

For a moment, she looked like she was going explode. Then she smiled. "Your loss, Vic." 

"Probably," Vic said, trying to make nice. She just shrugged and disappeared down one of the rows. 

Vic shook his head. Sometimes he just didn't understand women. Maybe it was better that he stuck with Mac. At least he knew what another guy was thinking. 

At the far end of the records area, he found Nathan sitting at a table in his office. The nervous young man didn't have a desk, just a large boardroom table covered with papers and books. Nathan was leafing through a book so old that clouds of dust rose every time he turned a page, and he was muttering to himself. "Hi, Nathan," Vic said, setting his box on the table in one of the few clear spots. 

"Vi... Vic. Um... What brings you down here?" Nathan said, licking his lips nervously. His eyes darted right and left. He looked like he was looking for an escape route. 

"I heard a rumor that you like Milka bars," Vic said, opening the box and turning it so that Nathan could see the pile of imported chocolate bars. 

"Oh!" Nathan said, reaching for the box. Then he drew back his hand before actually touching the box. "Um... what did you want?" 

Vic frowned, then realized that Nathan thought he wanted something for the chocolate. "Nothing. This is to say thank you for the other night." 

"O... Other night?" Nathan practically squeaked. 

"Yeah. You had the information that let us reach Jackie in time to stop the killer. If you hadn't, Jackie would probably be dead right now. Thanks." 

"You're welcome," Nathan said, straightening up. He looked surprised, and Vic wondered how often he was actually praised for his work, and resolved to do so a bit more often. 

"Enjoy," Vic said, waving as he left. As he headed for the elevators, he could hear the rustle of a wrapper being pulled off behind him, and smiled. He would have to thank Dobrinsky for the suggestion as well. 

He was whistling as he left. 

* * *

Mac paused outside the bar door, briefly considering just turning around and leaving. The bar looked a lot rougher than the type he preferred to go to, and the area of town wasn't his favorite either. 

Then he squared his shoulders and pushed the door open. 

Inside, the air was thick with smoke. The music blared from a jukebox and was hopelessly out of date. It wasn't even classic, like the stuff Vic listened to. It was just top twenty type stuff from nearly a decade earlier, completely forgettable. As for the people inside the bar, they fit the atmosphere perfectly. The men outnumbered the women pretty much ten to one. Jeans and leather was de rigueur, to go with the lineup of motorcycles outside. It was a parody of a biker bar, as far as Mac was concerned. 

He saw who he was looking for at a small table at the back of the bar, nursing a beer. Ignoring a few sneering comments directed at him and his clothes, he headed for the man. "Didn't expect to hear from you so soon," he said. "In fact, I thought you'd already left town." 

Cash waved for him to sit down. "You want a drink?" he asked, ignoring the comment. 

A waitress who looked about a hundred years old came over, and figuring that he wasn't going to get any of his favorite import or micro-brew beers, he just asked for whatever was on tap. 

When his beer arrived, he took a polite sip, then put the glass down. He tried not to look at the rim too closely, figuring that the glass probably wasn't too clean. The beer was tasteless, but more because of the generic brand name than his dulled taste buds. "All right, Cash. You wanted to meet me without Vic knowing. Here I am. So what do you want?" 

Cash raised an eyebrow, but Mac didn't feel guilty about the hostile tone. While he had enjoyed his night with Cash back in San Francisco, and he was grateful to the man for saving Vic's life, he was still pissed off that Cash had tried to get Vic to leave with him. To abandon Mac, in other words. 

"I'm heading north tomorrow," Cash said, setting down his now empty beer glass. 

"That's nice," Mac said noncommittally. 

"I still think that Vic should come with me. The Director's offer is still open, she says." 

Mac growled, and from Cash's expression, he knew that he was losing control of his beast. "And what do you expect me to do? Give you permission to run off with my partner, my lover? Give you my blessings? Well the hell with you," he hissed, trying not to draw attention to them. Even so, they were getting some sharp looks from the closest tables. 

"Mac, it wouldn't be forever. The two of you can be together for centuries, potentially. But only if you both get the training to let you survive. Surely your sire—" 

Mac cut him off with a wave. "Obviously the Director didn't bring you up to speed. My so-called sire was Sabbat, a Ravnos, and she didn't survive the night that I dug myself out of the grave she put me in. Vic is the only teacher I've had so far, and you want to take him away? Doesn't exactly go with your talk about us needing our sires to train us, now does it?" 

Cash actually looked shocked. "Sabbat?" 

Mac nodded. "And there was no choice involved. She ripped my throat out on the orders of..." he hesitated. "Of someone who wanted to hurt the Director," he finally said. 

"I... I didn't know." 

"Obviously. It's been crazy since then, and sometimes I think that the only thing that has kept me sane was the fact that Vic was there, every step of the way. Now, why don't we talk about the _real_ reason you're so hung up on having Vic go with you." 

Cash shook his head. "I told you, I don't want any Childe of mine to be left trying to figure out things on their own." 

"Bullshit. From what I understand, all Gangrel are left that way. You were, so why not Vic?" 

"Because..." 

"And it isn't like he didn't get any training. The Director arranged for the local Gangrel clan to teach him all the basics. In fact, he's doing pretty damn good. He doesn't need you to hold his hand." 

"Mac..." 

"Admit it, Cash. It isn't Vic you're worried about, it's yourself. You're going to be separated from _your_ lover for however many years, so you want to take _my_ lover with you so that you won't be lonely." 

Cash was shaking his head vigorously now. "It isn't like that." 

Mac stared at him for a moment. "Are you sure?" he said softly. In a way, he almost felt sympathetic, but not enough to encourage Vic to go with him. "You waited a year for this. What stopped you from coming before this? I'm sure that if you'd asked, you could have worked something out with Julian and the Director to come stay in Toronto for a few years to train him, but you didn't. You waited until something forced you to leave San Francisco and your lover. Until then, nothing. I know Vic called you a couple times, but did you ever call him? Did you ever try to build any sort of relationship with him before you showed up here, expecting him to drop everything and follow you off into the wilderness?" 

Cash looked away. "I didn't come up here intending to hurt you," he finally said. 

"And you haven't," Mac said, relenting slightly. Only slightly. "But if you take Vic away now, you will. I've lost everyone who ever meant anything to me in my life, one by one. My parents, my adoptive family, one of my partners who was also my foster sister and lover. And now you're trying to take Vic away too. Cash, I like you. I wouldn't have slept with you if I didn't." Mac snorted. "Well, maybe I would have. But still, you're making a mistake here. What are you so afraid of, being alone?" 

Cash was eyeing him with something that looked like respect now. "When did you get so wise?" he asked. 

"Don't be fooled, I'm still immature and shallow. And you're avoiding the question." 

"Yeah, I guess I am. I... I miss Julian." 

"Well, duh, as Jackie would say. But you said it yourself: You go your separate ways until it's time for him to leave San Fran, then you get back together again." 

"I suppose." 

Mac's eyebrow went up. "What, you think he's going to lose interest in you? Out of sight, out of mind?" 

Cash snorted. "Something like that. I'm up here, and he's back there. And so is Lily. And Frank." 

Mac rolled his eyes. "And you fucked me. From what you've told me, monogamy isn't a word in either of your vocabularies. And no one said that you had to be there to keep his attention. It's why they invented phones, you know. To keep in touch?" 

Cash looked surprised, and Mac groaned. "You've got to be joking. What were you planning on doing, going incommunicado for a few years? Call the man, idiot. I'm sure he's got enough money to foot the bill if you don't. Have phone sex. Tell him what you've been up to. Make sure he doesn't get the chance to forget about you, that you're waiting for him." 

"I never thought of that," Cash said, 

"Obviously. And call us once in a while too, okay? And just because I'm not going to let you run off with my partner doesn't mean you can't be around for him. Maybe the Director can be convinced to give us the occasional vacation. We come visit you, you get to add to Vic's training, the two of you can actually get to know each other. Sound good?" 

Cash grinned. "Like I said, for someone so young, you've got some good ideas." 

"Yeah, well tell the Director that. She still doesn't like sending me on stakeouts." 

"What happened?" Cash asked, his eyes narrowing. 

Mac laughed ruefully. "We were staking out what was supposed to be an arms shipment being smuggled through town. I got bored, so I went and picked a fight with the guys we were supposed to just be watching." 

Cash laughed. "You broke a stakeout because you were bored? Wait a minute, you said 'supposed' to be an arms shipment. What was it?" 

"Lungs." 

"What?" 

"They were smuggling organs. Black market organ transplants. The arms dealer almost ended up with LiAnn's lungs inside of him." 

Cash's expression was priceless. "Wait a minute. Start over, and this time from the beginning." 

Mac picked up his beer glass and took a quick swig. "Well, it was like this..." 

* * *

The Director leaned back in her chair, the fine leather sinfully comfortable. It had cost more than most people made in a month, but it was worth it. Besides, with her job she deserved a few perks. 

"So," she said, spinning around lightly to face her assistant. "How did the children do?" 

Dobrinsky was sitting opposite her, on the other side of her desk. They were in her private office, which meant that they didn't have to worry about any unexpected interruptions; something that happened all to regularly with her favorite team. If she didn't like them so much... 

"All in all, they did quite well. Jackie did get kidnapped by the killer, but the boys put together the clues and tracker her down before anything permanent happened. This whole thing was insane from the start, but they did good." 

The Director smiled. If Dobrinsky was willing to say that, then it must be true. She knew that her second still had reservations about her choices for her 'special' team, even after all these years, but he wasn't so prejudiced that he couldn't admit when he was wrong. "I'm glad to hear it. And LiAnn?" 

Dobrinsky sighed. "Based on Vic's report, I would consider her lost. She made it quite clear to them that she has no intention of returning." 

"A pity. From the sound of it, she might have been able to fill us in a little on the mysterious Orient." She sighed, then shrugged. "Mark her as permanently retired in the archives, but with a notation that if she calls, we answer. No need to completely burn that bridge." 

"Already done," Dobrinsky said with a smirk. He was very good at anticipating her, which was why he was her second. Then he turned sober. "But I still think you were taking a serious risk, disappearing when you did." 

Part of her wanted to snap that it wasn't any of his business, but they both knew that wasn't true. Someday — and probably sooner rather than later — he was going to be sitting in her chair, making the tough calls in her place. "I needed to see how they would handle this on their own," she finally said. "Eventually they will have to move on, without me to call on. If they can't survive without me, then better that they be killed now." 

"Before you can care too much?" 

She laughed. "It's too late for that," she said, a little bitter. More than two hundred years of being so careful, and along came three scruffy children — well, maybe not so scruffy — who worked their way past her defenses. And yet, strangely, she didn't really mind. As far as she was concerned, they were _her_ kids, even if they definitely hadn't turned out the way she'd expected. She'd had such plans for them. She should have remembered what they said about plans. 

But the kids also made her vulnerable, which is why her sister had targeted them. And knowing her sister, she wasn't done either. 

"And then there's Jackie," Dobrinsky said, catching her off- guard. Of course, of her agents, the petite blonde was _his_ favorite. 

"What about her? You did tell me that she was all right," she said, worriedly. 

"Physically, yes. However, while you gave the three of them the week off, and she hasn't left her apartment yet." 

The Director sighed. "I'll take care of her," she said. And she had a few ideas of how to do that. 

* * *

Jackie sat, staring out into the inky, wet darkness, watching the lights of the city as they sparkled brightly. The papers were still full of stories about the series of murders, not yet realizing that it was over. In time, they would forget about them, maybe resurrecting the questions every year or two, wondering what happened to the Nightclub Killer. As for the man Sanji had killed and put in her car, there'd been a couple articles about the disappearance of a Homicide detective, but nothing had come of it. She knew that Vic and Mac were still waiting to see if they'd been connected to the man, but no one had shown any interest in them, thankfully. 

Jackie glanced over at the letter sitting on the coffee table. It had arrived while she was asleep that day. The postmark was smudged beyond reading, but she'd recognized the handwriting immediately. LiAnn. She picked it up and read the brief note again. 

"Hello, Jackie. 

I'm home, welcomed with open arms. Bringing back the head of the killer of the Queen's heir has ensured my place for however long I want it. And with that dealt with, I can now move on to what brought me back after my parents killed me. 

All my life I have been denied, and denied myself. A poverty- stricken childhood. Life in a brothel. Life as the adopted child of a Tong leader. My time as a fugitive. As an agent. Always doing what I was told and never what I wanted. 

But now, everything is different. Now I can do as I please, experiencing all that life — and yes, I do mean life — has to offer. So many things I never had the chance to experience, and I'm going to try them all. 

Our night together was pleasant, but can only be that: One night. Like I told Mac, there's no common ground left for us. You won't see me again. But I will remember you, and the boys, fondly. 

Watch your back, blondie. 

LiAnn" 

That was it. No explanations of where she was, or what sort of queen she was talking about. So many unanswered questions. 

Jackie set down the rough paper again. She'd never really gotten along with LiAnn. They'd been like two cats, fighting for the same territory. Still, she'd respected the woman, and she was a little surprised to find that she was going to miss her. For one brief moment, she hadn't been so very alone. 

Of course, it didn't hurt that LiAnn had been one fantastic fuck. 

She heard the click of the door behind her, but didn't turn around. She could guess who it was. 

"Sitting all alone in the dark? That isn't healthy." The Director. She'd reappeared as mysteriously as she'd disappeared during the case, not bothering to explain where she'd been or why. She'd told them all 'good job' and to take a week off. Jackie had gone home and stayed there. She wasn't in the mood for clubbing. She wasn't sure that she'd ever be in the mood for it again. 

The sofa shifted under her slightly as the Director sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Surely it isn't that bad," she said softly. "What's wrong?" 

Jackie leaned against her, needing the contact. The Director wasn't usually _quite_ this touchy-feely though. "I liked him, you know. The night we met up at the club, we talked for hours. I know he was just manipulating me, but it was nice. We seemed to mesh so well." 

"And now you feel alone again. But you aren't alone. Not if you don't want to be." 

Jackie laughed bitterly. "Right. Vic and Mac have each other. Dobrinsky has Nathan. LiAnn is gone. Other than them, I don't have any one I can just be me with." 

"You have me," the Director said, squeezing her gently. 

Jackie shook her head. "No I don't. You're my boss, my Prince. You can't be that as well as my friend. My..." She stopped, and started to pull away, but the older woman didn't let go. 

"Your lover?" She seemed to hesitate, then brushed her knuckles across Jackie's cheek. "Maybe not forever, but that doesn't mean I can't be until you meet that person you're waiting for." She leaned closer. "You don't have to be alone." 

She let go, and Jackie felt a flash of loss, but the Director just stood up and held out a hand to her. "Want to give it a try?" 

Jackie stared up at her, her thoughts all awhirl. She knew that the older woman was just offering physical contact. She knew her well enough to know that it would never be anything more than that. She wanted to say no. After all, if all she wanted was a willing body, she could find that anywhere. On the other hand, if nothing else, at least the Director understood her, all of her, and her one night with LiAnn had shown her how good that could be. 

She stood, took the offered hand, and let herself be led into the bedroom. 

* * *

The jungle was hot an humid, the air barely moving. Very little of the sunlight made it through the canopy to the ground under the trees, giving everything a twilight haze. In the distance she heard a monkey screech. The sound of birds was almost constant, as was the drip of water. 

LiAnn relaxed, stretched out along a tree branch, not even noticing the insects that crossed her naked body as though it was just another barrier to get past. Insects were a constant part of life in the jungles of southern Asia, and she accepted them as that. It was life, in all its glory. 

Below, she could hear the sound of laughter, coming from the people she now called family. She was thankful that they had found her, not long after she'd killed her parents, wandering though the farmlands of China. The peasants were already hunting her, since she hadn't been able to stop with just her parents. She'd bathed in blood until she was sated, then ran for her life. 

But the Tigers had found her first, helping her escape, then teaching her how to live her new life. She'd been tempted to join them, but it hadn't felt right, and they'd recognized that. They'd finally sent her to the Golden Courts, where she'd finally found a home; the first true home she'd ever had. 

She would miss her old partners, though. Mac had been there for her, ever since they'd been thrown together by the Tangs. He'd stood up for her when Michael had been mean and hateful, jealous that his father had brought two strangers home. He'd been the first real lover she'd ever had, although she'd certainly been no virgin. And when she'd pushed him away, he'd refused to go, just giving her enough space to try to figure out what she really wanted. 

And Vic, sweet Vic, was the first man to make her feel like a woman. He'd even wanted to marry her, disaster though that would have been. They would have ended up hating each other if they'd actually gone through with it. And even though she'd hurt him unbearably, he'd still been her friend after everything she'd done. 

Then there was Jackie, annoying, but loyal to a fault in the end. So brave, in going up against the Raksha. And a tiger in bed. If she wasn't a vampire, LiAnn might have been tempted to bring her home with her. Jackie would have fit so well into the Court life. But she _was_ a vampire, and there was no place for her in LiAnn's world, any more that LiAnn had a place in hers. She would never see any of them again, and it was probably for the best, but they would always hold a special place in her heart. 

"LiAnn!" 

She sat up at the sound of her name being called, completely unconcerned by her nudity. Ling was grinning up at her, a grin full of sharp teeth and sex. She dropped from the branch, more than fifteen feet up in the air, and landed lightly on her feet. Ling growled lightly in the back of her throat, a sound that was purely playful. 

LiAnn wrapped her arm around the tiny girl, and together they headed for the building that had been a temple, centuries before. 

Yes, her old family would always have a place in her heart, but this, this was home. 

THE END 

_Oh, East is East and West is West,  
and never the twain shall meet,   
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgement Seat;   
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,   
When two strong men stand face to face,   
tho' they come from the ends of the earth! _

—Rudyard Kipling 


End file.
